PR0MLIHEU5    UNBOUND 


~^*S 


I_ — _ — . , __ _ . _ . 

THE 

POETICAL    WORKS 

0» 

PERCY  BTSSHE  SHELLEY, 

WITH    NOTES. 

A  NEW  EDITION,  REVISED  AND  CORRECTED 

trs 

G.    CUNINGHAM. 

ILLUSTRATED    ON    STEEL 

BY   G.    STANDFAST. 

PHILADELPHIA: 

PUBLISHED  BY  JAMES  B.  SMITH  &  CO., 

146  CHESTNUT  SEREET. 

PREFACE. 


The  poetry,  of  Percy  Bysshe  Shelley,  of  wmcn  a 
new  and  carefully  collated  edition  is  here  presented 
to  the  reader,  displays  the  greatest  depth  of  feeling, 
combined  with  an  excess  of  refinement  sometimes 
beyond  the  apprehension  of  ordinary  readers.  His 
command  of  language  was  perhaps,  as  great,  as  that 
of  any  modern  poet ;  but  the  innate  abstractedness  of 
his  mind  often  betrayed  him  into  obscurities  of  ex- 
pression which  not  all  the  efforts  of  the  reader  can 
at  times  penetrate.  He  seems,  in  many  instances  to 
have  had  a  most  refined  ear  for  all  the  touching  mu- 
sic of  versification,  and  yet  many  of  his  best  poems 
for  their  moral  instructiveness,  and  chasteness  of  ima- 
gination, would  be  exceedingly  valuable  even  in  prose. 
There  is  a  charm  about  his  writings,  not  easily  descri- 
bed, which  redeems  the  errors  more  obvious  to  criti- 
cism, and  which  will  ever  render  him  a  favorite  with 
the  lover  of  genuine  poetry,  though  he  may  never  be 
an  object  of  universal  admiration,  as  well  by  occasional 
obscurity,  as  by  certain  sentiments  which  do  not  ac- 
cord with  prevailing  opinions.  Yet  it  is  at  least  hon- 
est and  becoming  in  an  editor,  not  to  anticipate  the 
public  taste  and  obtrude  his  own,  by  culling  from  the 
bouquet  such  flowers  as  he  may  deem  noxious  or  un- 
sightly. It  is  the  province  of  the  public  to  select, 
from  a  complete  edition,  what  may  best  suit  every 
variety  of  taste  and  opinion.  Had  the  brief  span  of 
Shelley's  life  been  lengthened,  there  can  be  no  doubt 
that  the  effort    if  his  more  matured  years  would  have 


iv  PREFACE. 

outshone  in  brilliancy  even  those  of  his  contemporary 
rivals  in  the  art ;  and  yet  the  sublimity  of  many  of 
his  ideas,  the  rich  vein  of  deep  thought,  and  powerful 
feeling  running  through  most  of  his  productions,  may 
render  them  perfect  studies  ^'or  the  pcet. 

The  poem  of  "Qeen  Mab,"  which  has  been  styled 
"his  glory  as  a  poet,  and  his  shame  as  a  man,"  was 
penned  at  the  early  age  of  18.  It  contains  many 
parts  written  in  the  most  gorgeous  and  masterly 
style ;  and  for  descriptive  power,  perhaps  is  not  ex- 
celled by  any  poem  ever  produced:  but  (as  has  been 
well  observed)  "  the  titles  of  the  Divine  Being  are  so 
often  indecorously  sported  with  in  such  outrageous 
paradoxes,  coupled  with  much  that  is  decidedly  vile 
and  detestable,  that  it  may  be  safely  asserted  no  in- 
dividual retaining  a  spark  of  religious  feeling,  can 
ever  have  that  spark  extinguished  by  a  perusal  of  the 
poem:" — this  is  an  additional  reason  for  retaining 
it  in  the  present  volume  ;  it  also  contains  peculiar 
and  transcendent  beauties  which  it  might  be  deemed 
culpable  to  destroy. 


THE  CENCL 


ACT  I.     Scene  T. 

An  Apartment  in  (he  Cenci  Palace.     Enter  Count  Cenci 
and  Cardinal  Camii.lo. 

Cam.     That  matter  of  the  murder  is  hushed  up 
If  you  consent  to  yield  his  Holiness 
Your  fief  that  lies  beyond  the  Pincian  gate. — 
It  needed  all  my  interest  in  the  conclave 
To  bend  him  to  this  point :  he  said  that  you 
Bought  perilous  impunity  with  your  gold  ; 
That  crimes  like  yours,  if  once  or  twice  compounded, 
Enriched  the  Church,  and  respited  from  hell 
An  erring  soul  which  might  repent  and  live  : 
But,  that  the  glory  and  the  interest 
Of  the  high  throne  he  fills,  little  consist 
With  making  it  a  daily  mart  of  guilt 
As  manifold  and  hideous  as  the  deeds 
Which  you  scarce  hide  from  men's  revolted  eyes. 

Cen.     The  third  of  my  possessions  — let  it  go  1 
Ah,  I  once  heard  the   nephew  of  the  Pope 
Had  sent  his  architect  to  view  the  ground, 
Meaning  to  build  a  villa  on  my  vines 
The  next  time  I  compounded  with  his  uncle : 
I  little  thought  he  should  outwit  me  so  ! 
Henceforth  no  witness — not  the  lamp — shall  see 
That  which  the  vassal  threatened  to  divulge, 
Whose  throat  is  choked  with  dust  for  his  reward. 
The  deed  he  savy  could  not  have  rated  higher 
Than  his  most  worthless  life  : — it  angers  me  ! 
Respited  me  from  Hell ! — So  may  the  Devil 
Respite  their  souls  from  Heaven.     No  doubt  Pope  Clemen^ 
And  his  most  charitable  nephews,  pray 
That  the  Apostle  Peter  and  the  saints 
Will  grant  tor  their  sake  that  I  long  enjoy 
Strength,  wealth,  and  pride,  and  lust,  and  lepgth  of  days, 
Wherein  to  act  the  deeds  which  are  the  stewards 
Of  their  revenue. — But  much  yet  remains 
To  which  they  show  no  title. 

Cam.  Oh,  Count  Cenci ! 

So  much  that  thou  might'st  honourably  live, 

1* 
•->    v-     .- I 


2  THE  CB-NCI. 

And  reconcile  thyself  wkl.  tkin>own  heart, 
And  vith  thy. God,  and  .with  the  oflfended  world. 
How  IiiHeo'udy  loot:  deelds  of  last  and  blood 
Thrdugh  thdse'snow-wMte  and  vehei'able  hairs ! 
Your  children  should  be  sitting  round  you  now, 
But  that  you  fear  to  read  upon  their  looks 
The  shame  and  misery  you  have  written  there. 
Where  is  your  wife  ?  Where  is  your  gentle  daughter  f 
Methinks  her  sweet  looks,  which  make  all  things  else 
Beauteous  and  glad,  might  kill  the  fiend  within  you. 
Why  is  she  barred  from  all  society    " 
But  her  own  strange  and  uncomplaining  wrongs? 
Talk  with  me,  Count : — you  know  I  mean  you  well. 
I  stood  beside  your  dark  and  fiery  youth, 
Watching  its  bold  and  bad  career,  as  men 
Watch  meteors,  but  it  vanished  not— I  marked 
Your  desperate  and  remorseless  manhood  ;  now 
Do  I  behold  you,  in  dishonoured  age, 
Charged  with  a  thousand  unrepented  crimes. 
Yet  have  I  ever  hoped  you  would  amend, 
And  in  that  hope  have  saved  your  life  three  times. 

Cen.     For  which  Aldobrandino  owes  you  now 
My  fief  beyond  the  Pincian.     Cardinal, 
One  thing,  I  pray  you,  recollect  henceforth, 
And  so  we  shall  converse  with  less  restraint. 
A  man  you  knew  spoke  of  my  wife  and  daughter) 
He  was  accustomed  to  frequent  my  house ; 
So  the  next  day  his  wife  and  daughter  came 
And  asked  if  I  had  seen  him  ;  and  I  smiled: 
I  think  they  never  saw  him  any  more. 
Cam.     Thou  execrable  man,  beware  ! — 
Cen.  Of  thee  ? 

Nay,  this  is  idle : — we  should  know  each  other. 
As  to  my  character  for  what  men  call  crime, 
Seeing  I  please  my  senses  as  I  list, 
And  vindicate  that  right  with  force  or  guile, 
It  is  a  public  matter,  and  I  care  not 
If  I  discuss  it  with  you.     I  may  speak 
Alike  to  you  and  my  own  conscious  heart ; 
For  you  give  out  that  you  have  half  reformed  me 
Therefore  strong  vanity  will  keep  you  silent 
If  fear  should  not ;  both  will,  I  do  not  doubt. 
All  men  delight  in  sensual  luxury, 
All  men  enjoy  revenge ;  and  most  exult 
Over  the  tortures  they  can  never  feel ; 
Flattering  their  secret  peace  with  others'  pain. 
But  I  delight  in  nothing  else.     I  love 
The  sight  of  agony,  and  the  sense  of  joy, 
When  this  shall  be  another's,  and  that  jron*. 
And  I  have  no  remorse,  and  little  fear, 


THE  CENCI.  8 

Which  are,  I  think,  the  checks  of  other  men. 
This  mood  has  grown  upon  me,  until  now 
Any  design  my  captious  fancy  makes 
The  picture  of  its  wish,  and  it  forms  none 
But  such  as  men  like  you  would  start  to  know, 
Is  as  my  natural  food  and  rest  debarred 
Until  it  be  accomplished. 

Cam.  Art  thou  not 

Most  miserable  ? 

Cen.  Why  miserable  ? — 

No.     I  am  what  your  theologians  call 
Hardened  ;  which  they  must  be  in  impudence, 
So  to  revile  a  man's  peculiar  taste. 
True,  I  was  happier  than  I  am,  while  yet 
Manhood  remained  to  act  the  thing  I  thought ; 
While  lust  was  sweeter  than  revenge ;  and  now 
Invention  palls  :  ay,  we  must  all  grow  old : 
But  that  there  yet  remains  a  deed  to  act 
Whose  horror  might  make  sharp  an  appetite 
Duller  than  mine — I'd  do, — I  know  not  what. 
When  I  was  young  1  thought  of  nothing  else 
But  pleasure  ;  and  I  fed  on  honey  sweets : 
Men,  by  St.  Thomas  !  cannot  live  like  bees, 
And  I  grew  tired :  yet,  till  I  killed  a  foe, 
And  heard  his  groans,  and  heard  his  children's  groans, 
Knew  I  not  what  delight  was  else  on  earth, 
Which  now  delights  me  little.     I  the  rather 
Look  on  such  pangs  as  terror  ill  conceals  ; 
The  dry  fixed  eyeball,  the  pale  quivering  lip, 
Which  tell  me  that  the  spirit  weeps  within 
Tears  bitterer  than  the  bloody  sweat  of  Christ. 
I  rarely  kill  the  body,  which  preserves, 
Like  a  strong  prison,  the  soul  within  my  power, 
Wherein  I  feed  it  with  the  breath  of  fear 
For  hourly  pain. 

Cam.  Hell's  most  abandoned  fiend 

Did  never,  in  the  drunkenness  of  guilt, 
Speak  to  his  heart  as  now  you  speak  to  me : 
I  thank  my  God  that  I  believe  you  not. 

Enter  Andrea. 

Andr.     My  Lord,  a  gentleman  from  Salamanca 
Would  speak  with  you. 

Cm.     Bid  him  attend  me  in  the  grand  saloon. 

(Exit  Andrea.) 

Cam.     Farewell ;  and  I  will  pray 
Almighty  God  that  thy  false,  impious  words 
Tempt  not  his  spirit  to  abandon  thee.  (Exit  Camillo.) 

Cen.     The  third  of  my  possessions  !   I  must  use 
Close  husbandry,  or  gold,  the  old  man's  sword, 


4  THE  CENCT. 

Falls  from  my  withered  hand.     But  yesterday 

There  came  an  order  from  the  Pope  to  make 

Fourfold  provision  for  my  cursed  sons ; 

Whom  [  have  sent  from  Rome  to  Salamanca, 

Hoping  some  accident  might  cut  them  off; 

And  meaning,  if  I  could,  to  starve  them  there. 

I  pray  thee,  God,  send  some  quick  death  upon  them  ! 

Bernardo  and  my  wife  could  not  be  worse 

If  dead  and  damned: — then,  as  to  Beatrice — 

(Looking  around  him  suspicioutly.) 
I  think  they  cannot  hear  me  at  that  door ; 
What  if  they  should  ?  And  yet  I  need  not  speak, 
Though  the  heart  triumphs  with  itself  in  words. 
O,  thou  most  silent  air,  that  shall  not  hear 
What  now  I  think !  Thou,  pavement,  which  I  tread 
Towards  her  chamber, — let  your  echoes  talk 
Of  my  imperious  step,  scorning  surprise, 
But  not  of  my  intent ! — Andrea  ! 

Enter  Andrea. 
Andr.  My  Lord ! 

Cen.     Bid  Beatrice  attend  me  in  her  chamber 
This  evening : — no,  at  midnight,  and  alone,  ( Exeunt  t 


Scene  II. 

A  Garden  of  the  Cenci  Palace.     Enter  Beatrice  and 

Orsino,  as  in  conversation. 

Beatr.     Pervert  not  truth, 
Orsino.     You  remember  where  we  held 
That  conversation  ; — nay,  we  see  the  spot 
Even  from  this  cypress ; — two  long  years  are  past 
Since,  on  an  April  midnight,  underneath 
The  moonlight  ruins  of  Mount  Palatine, 
I  did  confess  to  you  my  secret  mind. 

Ors.     You  said  you  loved  me  then. 

Beatr.  You  are  a  priest : 

Speak  to  me  not  of  love. 

Ors.  I  may  obtain 

The  dispensation  of  the  Pope  to  marry. 
Because  I  am  a  priest,  do  you  believe 
Your  image,  (as  the  hunter  some  struck  deer,) 
Follows  me  not  whether  I  wake  or  sleep  ? 

Beatr.     As  I  have  said,  speak  to  me  not  of  love. 
Had  you  a  dispensation,  I  have  not ; 
Nor  will  I  leave  this  home  of  misery 
Whilst  my  poor  Bernard,  and  that  gentle  lady 
To  whom  I  owe  life,  and  these  virtuous  thought*. 
Must  suffer  what  I  still  have  strength  to  share. 
Alas,  Orsino !   All  the  love  that  once 


THE  CENCJ.  5 

I  felt  for  you,  is  turned  to  bitter  pain. 

Ours  was  a  youthful  contract,  which  you  first 

Broke,  by  assuming  vows  no  Pope  will  loose. 

And  thus  I  love  you  still,  but  holily, 

Even  as  a  sister  or  a  spirit  might; 

And  so  I  swear  a  cold  fidelity. 

And  it  is  well  perhaps  we  shall  not  marry. 

You  have  a  sly,  equivocating  vein 

That  suits  me  not. — Ah,  wretched  that  I  am  ! 

Where  shall  I  turn  ?  Even  now  you  look   on  nie 

As  you  were  not  my  friend,  and  as  if  you 

Discovered  that  I  thought  so,  with  false  smiles 

Making  my  true  suspicion  seem  your  wrong. 

Ah  ! — No,  forgive  me ;  sorrow  makes  me  seem 

Sterner  than  else  my  nature  might  have  been  ; 

I  have  a  weight  of  melancholy  thoughts, 

And  they  forbode, — but  what  can  they  forbode 

Worse  than  I  now  endure  ? 

Ors.  All  will  be  well. 

Is  the  petition  yet  prepared  ?  You  know 
My  zeal  for  all  you  wish,  sweet  Beatrice ; 
Doubt  not  but  I  will  use  my  utmost  skill 
So  that  the  Pope  attend  to  your  complaint. 

Beatr.     Your  zeal  for  all  I  wish? — Ah  me,  you  art  cold ! 
Your  utmost  skill — speak  but  one  word — 

(Aside.)  Alas ! 
Weak  and  deserted  creature  that  I  am, 
Here  I  stand  bickering  with  my  only  friend !  (To  Orsino.) 
This  night  my  father  gives  a  sumptuous  feast, 
Orsino  ;  he  has  heard  some  happy  news 
From  Salamanca,  from  my  brothers  there, 
And  with  this  outward  show  of  love  he  mocks 
His  inward  hate.     'Tis  bold  hypocrisy, 
For  he  would  gladlier  celebrate  their  deaths, 
Which  I  have  heard  him  pray  for  on  his  knees : 
Great  God  !  that  such  a  father  should  be  mine  !— 
But  there  is  mighty  preparation  made, 
And  all  our  kin,  the  Cenci,  will  be  there, 
And  all  the  chief  nobility  of  Rome. 
And  he  has  bidden  me  and  my  pale  mother 
Attire  ourselves  in  festival  array. 
Poor  lady  !    she  expects  some  happy  change 
In  his  dark  spirit  from  this  act;   I  none. 
At  supper  I  will  give  you  the  petition  : 
Till  when- — farewell. 

Ors.  Farewell.  (Exit  Beatrice.) 

I  kncv  fts  Pope 
Will  ne'er  absolve  me  from  my  priestly  vow 
But  by  absolving  me  from  the  revenue 
Of  many  a  wealthy  see ;  and,  Beatrice, 
b  2 


6  THE  CENCI. 

I  think  to  win  thee  at  an  easier  rate. 

Nor  shall  he  read  her  eloquent  petition : 

He  might  bestow  her  on  some  poor  relation 

Of  his  sixth  cousin,  as  he  did  her  sister, 

And  I  should  be  debarred  from  all  access. 

Then,  as  to  what  she  suffers  from  her  father, 

In  all  this  there  is  much  exaggeration: 

Old  men  are  testy,  and  will  have  their  way ; 

A  man  may  stab  his  enemy,  or  his  vassal, 

And  live  a  free  life  as  to  wine  or  women, 

And  with  a  peevish  temper  may  return 

To  a  dull  home,  and  rate  his  wife  and  children ; 

Daughters  and  wives  call  this  foul  tyranny. 

I  shall  be  well  content,  if  on  my  conscience 

There  rest  no  heavier  sin  than  what  they  suffer 

From  the  devices  of  my  love — A  net 

From  which  she  shall  escape  not.     Yet  I  fear 

Her  subtle  mind,  her  awe-inspiring  gaze, 

Whose  beams  anatomize  me,  nerve  by  nerve, 

And  lay  me  bare,  and  make  me  blush  to  see 

My  hidden  thoughts. — Ah,  no  !  A  friendless  girl 

Who  clings  to  me,  as  to  her  only  hope : — 

I  were  a  fool,  not  less  than  if  a  panther 

Were  panic-stricken  by  the  antelope's  eye, 

If  she  escape  me.  {Exit.) 

Scene  III. 

A  magnificent  Hall  in  the  Cenci  Palace.     A  Banquet, 

Enter  Cenci,  Lucretia,  Beatrice,  Orsino,  Camillo, 

Nobles. 
Cen.     Welcome,  my  friends  and  kinsmen ;  welcome,  ye 
Princes  and  Cardinals,  Pillars  of  the  church  ; 
Whose  presence  honours  our  festivity. 
I  have  too  long  lived  like  an  anchorite, 
And,  in  my  absence  from  your  merry  meetings, 
An  evil  word  is  gone  abroad  of  me  ; 
But  I  do  hope  that  you,  my  noble  friends, 
When  you  have  shared  the  entertainment  here, 
And  heard  the  pious  cause  for  which  'tis  given, 
And  we  have  pledged  a  health  or  two  together, 
Will  think  me  flesh  and  blood  as  well  as  you; 
Sinful,  indeed,  for  Adam  made  all  so, 
But  tender-hearted,  meek,  and  pitiful. 

1.  Guest.     In  truth,  my  lord,  you  seem  too  light  of  heart, 
Too  sprightly  and  companionable  a  man, 
To  act  the  deeds  that  rumour  pins  on  you. 

(To  his  companion.) 
I  never  saw  such  blithe  and  open  cheer 
Iu  any  eye ! 


THE  CENCI.  7 

2.  Guest.  Some  most  desired  event. 

In  which  we  all  demand  a  common  joy, 
Has  brought  us  hither ;  let  us  hear  it,  Count. 

Cen.     It  is  indeed  a  most  desired  event: 
If,  when  a  parent,  from  a  parent's  heart, 
Lifts  from  this  earth  to  the  great  Father  of  all 
A  prayer,  both  when  he  lays  him  down  to  sleep, 
And  when  he  rises  up  from  dreaming  it; 
One  supplication,  one  desire,  one  hope, 
That  he  would  grant  a  wish  for  his  two  sons, 
Even  all  that  he  demands  in  their  regard — 
And  suddenly,  beyond  his  dearest  hope, 
It  is  accomplished: — he  should  then  rejoice, 
And  call  his  friends  and  kinsmen  to  a  feast, 
And  task  their  love  to  grace  his  merriment. 
Then  honour  me  thus  far — for  I  am  he. 

Beatr.  (to  Lucretia.)  Great  God  !  how  horrible! 
Some  dreadful  ill 
Must  have  befallen  my  brothers. 

Lucr.  Fear  not,  child ; 

He  speaks  too  frankly. 

Beatr.  Ah  !  my  blood  runs  cold. 

I  fear  that  wicked  laughter  round  his  eye, 
Which  wrinkles  up  the  skin  even  to  the  hair. 

Cen.     Here  are  the  letters  brought  from  Salamanca; 
Beatrice,  read  them  to  your  mother.     God, 
I  thank  thee  !   In  one  night  didst  thou  perform, 
By  ways  inscrutable,  the  thing  I  sought. 
My  disobedient  and  rebellious  sons 

Are  dead  !— Why  dead  ! — What  means  this  change  of  cheer  ? 
You  hear  me  not,  I  tell  you  they  are  dead : 
And  they  will  need  no  food  nor  raiment  more  : 
The  tapers  that  did  light  them  the  dark  way 
Are  their  last  cost.     The  Pope,  I  think,  will  not 
Expect  I  should  maintain  them  in  their  coffins. 
Rejoice  with  me — my  heart  is  wondrous  glad. 

Beatr.  ( Lucretia  sinks,  half  fainting ;  Beatrice  supports  Iter.) 
It  is  not  true  ! — Dear  lady,  pray  look  up. 
Had  it  been  true,  there  is  a  God  in  Heaven, 
He  would  not  live  to  boast  of  such  a  boon. 
Unnatural  man,  thou  knowest  that  it  is  false. 

Cen.     Ay,  as  the  word  of  God;  whom  here  I  call 
To  witness  that  I  speak  the  sober  truth ; — 
And  whose  most  favouring  Providence  wa.i  shown 
Even  in  the  manner  of  their  deaths.     For  Rocco 
Was  kneeling  at  the  mass,  with  sixteen  others, 
When  the  church  fell  and  crushed  him  to  a  mummy; 
The  rest  escaped  unhurt.     Cristofano 
Was  stabbed  in  error  by  a  jealous  man, 
Whilst  she  lie  loved  was  sleeping  with  his  rival ; 


8  THE  CENCI. 

All  in  the  self-same  hour  of  the  same  night ; 
Which  shows  that  Heaven  has  special  care  of  me. 
I  beg  those  friends  who  love  me,  that  they  mark 
The  day  a  feast  upon  their  calendars. 
It  was  the  twenty-seventh  of  December: 
Ay,  read  the  letters  if  you  doubt  my  oath. 

(The  assembly  appears  confused ;  several  of  the  guests  rise, ) 

1.  Guest.     Oh,  horrible  !   I  will  depart. — 

2.  Guest.  And  I.— 

3.  Guest.  No,  stay  ! 
I  do  believe  it  is  some  jest ;    though,  faith, 
'Tis  mocking  us  somewhat  too  solemnly. 

I  think  his  son  has  married  the  Infanta, 
Or  found  a  mine  of  gold  in  El  Dorado: 
'Tis  but  to  season  some  such  news  ;  stay,  stay ! 
I  see  'tis  only  raillery  by  his  smile. 

Cen.  (Filling  a  bowl  of  wine,  and  lifting  it  up.) 
Oh,  thou  bright  wine,  whose  purple  splendour  leaps 
And  bubbles  gaily  in  this  golden  bowl 
Under  the  lamp-light,  as  my  spirits  do, 
To  hear  the  death  of  my  accursed  sons ! 
Could  I  believe  thou  wert  their  mingled  blood, 
Then  would  I  taste  thee  like  a  sacrament, 
And  pledge  with  thee  the  mighty  Devil  in  Hell; 
Who,  if  a  father's  curses,  as  men  say, 
Climb  with  swift  wings  after  their  children's  soula, 
And  drag  them  from  the  very  throne  of  Heaven, 
Now  triumphs  in  my  triumph ! — But  thou  art 
Superfluous  ;   I  have  drunken  deep  of  joy, 
And  I  will  taste  no  other  wine  to-night. 
Here,  Andrea !  bear  the  bowl  around. 

A  Guest,  (rising.)  Thou  wretch  I 

Will  none  among  this  noble  company 
Check  the  abandoned  villain  ? 

Cam.  For  God's  sake, 

Let  me  dismiss  the  guests  !  You  are  insane, 
Some  ill  will  come  of  this. 

2.  Guest.  Seize,  silence  him  ! 
1.  Guest.     I  will! 

3.  Guest.  And  I ! 

Cen.  (Addressing  those  who  rise  with  a  threatening  gesture.) 
Who  moves  ?  Who  speaks  1  (Turning  to  the  company.) 

'Tis  nothing, 
Enjoy  yourselves. — Beware  !  for  my  revenge 
Is  as  the  sealed  commission  of  a  king, 
That  kills,  and  none  dare  name  the  murderer. 
(The  banquet  is  broken  up  ;  several  of  the  guests  are  departing.  ) 

Beatr.     I  do  intreat  you,  go  not,  noble  guests  ; 
What,  although  tyranny  and  impious  hate 
Stand  sheltered  by  a  father's  hoary  hair? 


THE  CENCI.  S 

What  if 'tis  he  who  clothed  us  in  these  limbs 

Who  tortures  them,  and  triumphs? — What,  if  we, 

The  desolate  and  the  dead,  were  his  own  flesh, 

His  children  and  his  wife,  whom  he  is  bound 

To  love  and  shelter?   Shall  we  therefore  find 

No  refuge  in  this  merciless  wide  world  ? 

Oh,  think  what  deep  WTongs  must  have  blotted  out 

First  love,  the  reverence  in  a  child's  prone  mind, 

Till  it  thus  vanquish  shame  and  fear !  Oh,  think ! 

I  have  born  much,  and  kissed  the  sacred  hand 

Which  crushed  us  to  the  earth,  and  thought  its  stroke 

Was  perhaps  some  paternal  chastisement ! 

Have  excused  much,  doubted  ;  and  when  no  doubt 

Remained,  have  sought  by  patience,  love  and  tears, 

To  soften  him  ;  and,  when  this  could  not  be, 

I  have  knelt  down  through  the  long  sleepless  nights, 

And  lifted  up  to  God,  the  Father  of  all, 

Passionate  prayers  :  and  when  these  were  not  heard, 

I  have  still  borne  — until  I  meet  you  here, 

Princes  and  kinsmen,  at  this  hideous  feast 

Given  at  my  brothers'  deaths.     Two  yet  remain, 

His  wife  remains  and  I,  wrhom  if  ye  save  not, 

You  soon  may  share  such  merriment  again 

As  fathers  make  over  their  children's  graves. 

Oh !   Prince  Colonna,  thou  art  our  near  kinsman; 

Cardinal,  thou  art  the  Pope's  chamberlain; 

Camillo,  thou  art  chief  justiciary  ; 
Take  us  away ! 

Cen.  (He  has  been  conversing  with  Camillo  during  tin 
first  part  of  Beatrice's  speech ;  he  hears  the  conclusion, 
and  now  advances.) 

I  hope  my  good  friends  here 
Will  think  of  their  own  daughters — or  perhaps 
Of  their  own  throats — before  they  lend  an  ear 
To  this  wild  girl ! 

Beatr.     (Not  noticing  the  words  of  Cenci.) 
Dare  nb  one  look  on  me  1 
None  answer?  Can  one  tyrant  overbear 
The  sense  of  many  best  and  wisest  men? 
Or  is  it  that  I  sue  not  in  some  form 
Of  scrupulous  law,  that  ye  deny  my  suit? 
Oh,  God!  that  I  were  buried  with  my  brothers! 
And  that  the  flowers  of  this  departed  spring 
Were  fading  on  my  grave !  And  that  my  father 
Were  celebrating  now  one  feast  for  all ! 

Cam.     A  bitter  wish  for  one  so  young  and  gentle ; 
Can  we  do  nothing  ? — 

Colon.  Nothing  that  I  see. 

Count  Cenci  were  a  dangerous  enemy : 
Yet  I  would  second  any  one. 
2 


IC  HIE  CENCI. 

Card.  And  I. 

Cen.     Retire  to  your  chamber,  insolent  girl ! 

Beatr.     Retire  thou,  impious  man!     Ay,  hide  thyself 
Where  never  eye  can  look  upon  thee  more ! 
Wouldst  thou  have  honour  and  obedience, 
Who  art  a  torturer?     Father,  never  dream, 
That  thou  mayest  overbear  this  company, 
But  ill  must  come  of  ill. — Frown  not  on  me  ! 
Haste,  hide  thyself,  lest  with  avenging  looks 
My  brothers'  ghosts  should  hunt  thee  from  thy  seat ! 
Cover  thy  face  from  every  living  eye, 
And  start  if  thou  but  hear  a  human  step : 
Seek  out  some  dark  and  silent  corner,  there, 
Bow  thy  white  head  before  offended  God, 
And  we  will  kneel  around,  and  fervently 
Pray  that  he  pity  both  ourselves  and  thee. 

Cen.     My  friends,  I  do  lament  this  insane  girl 
Has  spoilt  the  mirth  of  our  festivity. 
Good  night,  farewell ;   I  will  not  make  you  longer 
Spectators  of  our  dull  domestic  quarrels. 
Another  time —  (Exeimt  all  but  Cenci  and  Beatrice.) 

My  brain  is  swimming  around ; 
Give  me  a  bowl  of  wine ! 

(To  Beatrice.)  Thou  painted  viper  ! 

Beast  that  thou  art !   Fair  and  yet  terrible ! 
I  know  a  charm  shall  make  thee  meek  and  tame, 
Now  get  thee  from  my  sight !  (Exit  Beatrice.) 

Here,  Andrea, 
Fill  up  this  goblet  with  Greek  wine.     I  said 
I  would  not  drink  this  evening,  but  I  must; 
For,  strange  to  say,  I  feel  my  spirits  fail 

With  thinking  what  I  have  decreed  to  do.  (Drinking  the  wine.) 
Be  thou  the  resolution  of  quick  youth 
Within  my  veins,  and  manhood's  purpose  stern, 
And  age's  firm,  cold,  subtle  villany; 
As  if  thou  wert  indeed  my  children's  blood 
Which  I  did  thirst  to  drink.     The  charm  works  well ; 
It  must  be  done,  it  shall  be  done,  I  swear!  (Exit.) 


ACT  II.     Scene  I. 

An   apartment    in  the    Cenci    Palace.        Enter  Lucretia  and 
Bernardo. 

Lticr.     Weep  not,  my  gentle  boy;  he  struck  but  me, 
Who  have  borne  deeper  wrongs.     In  truth,  if  he 
Had  killed  me,  he  had  done  a  kinder  deed. 
Oh,  God  Almighty,  do  thou  look  down  upon  us, 
We  have  no  other  friend  but  only  thee! 


THE  CENCI.  13 

Yet  weep  not;  though  I  love  you  as  my  own, 
I  am  not  your  true  mother. 

Ber.  Oh,  more,  more 

Than  ever  mother  was  to  any  child, 
That  have  you  been  to  me !     Had  he  not  been 
My  father   '>«  vou  think  that  I  should  weep  ? 

Lucr.     Alas!  poor  boy,  what  else  couldst  thou  have  done! 
.     Enter  Beatrice. 

Beatr.  (in  a  hurried  voice.) 
Did  he  pass  this  way  ?     Have  you  seen  him,  brother? 
Ah !  no,  that  is  his  step  upon  the  stairs ; 
'Tis  nearer  now;  his  hand  is  on  the  door; 
Mother,  if  I  to  thee  have  ever  been 
A  duteous  child,  now  save  me  !     Thou,  great  God, 
Whose  image  upon  earth  a  father  is, 
Dost  thou  indeed  abandon  me?     He  comes; 
The  door  is  opening  now ;   I  see  his  face ; 
He  frowns  on  others,  but  he  smiles  on  me, 
Even  as  he  did  after  the  feast  last  night. 

Enter  a  Servant. 
Almighty  God,  how  merciful  thou  art! 
'Tis  but  Orsino's  servant. — Well,  what  news? 

Serv.     My  master  bids  me  say,  the  Holy  Father 
Has  sent  back  your  petition  thus  unopened.    (Giving  a  paper.) 
And  he  demands  at  what  hour  'twere  secure 
To  visit  you  again  ? 

Lucr.  At  the  Ave  Mary.      (Exit  Servant  ) 

So,  daughter,  our  last  hope  has  failed ;  ah  me, 
How  pale  you  look !  you  tremble,  and  you  stand 
Wrapped  in  some  fixed  and  fearful  meditation, 
As  if  one  thought  were  over  strong  for  you: 
Your  eyes  have  a  chill  glare  j  oh,  dearest  child  ! 
Are  you  gone  mad?     If  not,  pray  speak  to  me. 

Beatr.     You  see  I  am  not  mad ;    I  speak  to  you. 

Lucr.     You  talked  of  something  that  your  father  did 
After  that  dreadful  feast?     Could  it  be  worse 
Than  when  he  smiled,  and  cried,  My  sons  are  dead ! 
And  every  one  looked  in  his  neighbour's  face 
To  see  if  others  were  as  white  as  he? 
At  the  first  word  he  spoke,  I  felt  the  blood 
Rush  to  my  heart,  and  fell  into  a  trance; 
And  when  it  past  I  sat  all  weak  and  wild ; 
Whilst  you  alone  stood  up,  and  with  strong  words 
Check'd  his  unnatural  pride;  and  I  could  see 
The  devil  was  reDuked  that  lives  in  him. 
Until  this  hour  thus  you  have  ever  stood 
Between  us  and  your  father's  moody  wrath 
Like  a  protecting  presence:  your  firm  mind 
Has  been  our  only  refuge  and  defence : 
What  can  have  thus  subdued  it?     What  can  now 


12  THE  CENCI. 

Have  given  you  that  cold  melancholy  look, 
Succeeding  to  your  unaccustomed  fear? 

Beatr.     What  is  it  that  you  say?      I  was  just  thinking 
'Twere  better  not  to  struggle  any  more. 
Men,  like  my  father,  have  been  dark  and  bloody, 
Yet  never — Oh  !  before  worse  comes  of  it, 
'Twere  wise  to  die:  it  ends  in  that  at  last. 

Lucr.     Oil,  talk  not  so,  dear  child!  Tell  me  at  once 
What  did  your  father  do  or  say  to  you  ? 
He'stayed  not  after  that  accursed  feast 
One  moment  in  your  chamber. — Speak  to  me. 

Ber.     O,  sister,  sister,  prithee  speak  to  us ! 

Beatr.     (Speaking  very  sioivly,  with  a  forced  calmness.) 
It  was  one  word,  mother,  one  little  word; 
One  look,  one  smile.  (wildly.) 

Oh !  he  has  trampled  me 
Under  his  feet,  and  made  the  blood  stream  down 
My  pallid  cheeks.     And  he  has  given  us  all 
Ditch-water,  and  the  fever-stricken  flesh 
Of  buffaloes,  and  bade  us  eat  or  starve, 
And  we  have  eaten.     He  has  made  me  look 
On  my  beloved  Bernardo,  when  the  rust 
Of  heavy  chains  has  gangrened  his  sweet  limbs, 
And  I  have  never  yet  despaired — but  now! 
What  would  I  say  ?  (Recovering  herself.) 

Ah!  no,  'tis  nothing  new. 
The  sufferings  we  all  share  have  made  me  wild: 
He  only  struck  and  cursed  me  as  he  passed; 
He  said,  he  looked,  he  did, — nothing  at  all 
Beyond  his  wont,  yet  it  disordered  me. 
Alas!  I  am  forgetful  of  my  duty, 
I  should  preserve  my  senses  for  your  sake. 

Lucr.     Nay,  Beatrice ;  have  courage,  my  sweet  girl. 
If  any  one  despairs  it  should  be  I, 
Who  loved  him  once,  and  now  must  live  with  him 
Till  God  in  pity  call  for  him  or  me. 
For  you  may,  like  your  sister,  find  some  husband, 
And  smile,  years  hence,  with  children  round  your  knees; 
Whilst  I,  then  dead,  and  all  this  hideous  coil, 
Shall  be  remembered  only  as  a  dream. 

Beatr.     Talk  not  to  me,  dear  lady,  of  a  husband. 
Did  you  not  nurse  me  when  my  mother  died? 
Did  you  not  shield  me  and  that  dearest  boy  ? 
And  had  we  any  other  friend  but  you 
In  infancy,  with  gentle  words  and  looks, 
To  win  our  father  not  »  murder  us? 
And  shall  I  now  desert  you  ?     May  the  ghost 
Of  my  dead  mother  plead  against  my  soul, 
If  I  abandon  her  who  filled  the  place 
She  left,  with  more  even  than  a  mother's  love ! 


THE  CENCI.  13 

Ber.     And  I  am  of  my  sister's  mind.     Indeed 
I  would  not  leave  you  in  this  wretchedness, 
Even  though  the  Pope  should  make  me  free  to  live 
In  some  blithe  place,  like  others  of  my  age, 
With  sports,  and  delicate  food,  and  the  fresh  air. 
Oh,  never  think  that  I  will  leave  you,  mother! 

Liter.     My  dear,  dear  children ! 

Enter  Cenci,  suddenly. 

Cen.  What,  Beatrice  here ! 

Come  hither!  (She  shrinks  back,  and  covers  her  face.) 

Nay,  hide  not  your  face,  'tis  fair: 
Look  up !     Why,  yesternight  you  dared  to  look 
With  disobedient  insolence  upon  me, 
Bending  a  stern  and  an  inquiring  brow 
On  what  I  meant;  whilst  I  then  sought  to  hide 
That  which  I  came  to  tell  you — but  in  vain. 

Bcatr.      (Wildly  staggering  towards  the  door.) 
Oh,  that  the  earth  would  gape !   Hide  me,  O  God ! 

Cen.     Then  it  was  I  whose  inarticulate  words 
Fell  from  my  lips,  and  who  with  tottering  steps 
Fled  from  your  presence,  as  you  now  from  mine. 
Stay,  I  command  you;  from  this  day  and  hour 
Never  again,  I  think,  with  fearless  eye, 
And  brow  superior,  and  unaltered  cheek, 
And  that  lip  made  for  tenderness  or  scorn, 
Shalt  thou  strike  dumb  the  meanest  of  mankind  ; 
Me  least  of  all.     Now  get  thee  to  thy  chamber  ! 
Thou,  too,  loathed  image  of  thy  cursed  mother,  (To  Ber.) 

Thy  milky,  meek  face  makes  me  sick  with  hate ! 

(Exeunt  Beatr.  and  Ber.) 

(Aside.)     So  much  has  pass'd  between  us  as  must  make 
Me  bold,  her  fearful.     'Tis  an  awful  thing 
To  touch  such  mischief  as  I  now  conceive  : 
So  men  sit  shivering  on  the  dewy  bank, 
And  try  the  chill  stream  with  their  feet;  once  in — 
How  the  delighted  spirit  pants  for  joy! 

Lucr.     (Advancing  timidly  towards  him.) 
O  husband,  pray  forgive  poor  Beatrice; 
She  meant  not  any  ill. 

Cen.  Nor  you  perhaps? 

Nor  that  young  imp,  whom  you  have  taught  by  rote 
Parricide  with  his  alphabet?     Nor  Giacomo? 
Nor  those  two  most  unnatural  sons,  who  stirred 
Enmity  up  against  me  with  the  Pope  ? 
Whom  in  one  night  merciful  God  cut  off: 
Innocent,  lambs!  they  thought  not  any  ill. 
You  were  not  here  conspiring?     You  said  nothing 
Of  how  I  might  be  dungeoned  as  a  madman; 
Or  be  condemned  to  death  for  some  offence, 
2* 


14  THE  CENCI. 

And  you  would  be  the  witness  ? — This  failing, 

How  just  it  were  to  hire  assassins,  or 

Put  sudden  poison  in  my  evening  drink  ? 

Or  smother  me  when  overcame  by  wine  ? 

Seeing  we  had  no  other  judge  but  God, 

And  he  had  sentenced  me,  and  there  were  none 

But  you  to  be  the  executioners 

Of  his  decree  enregistered  in  heaven  ? 

Oh,  no !     You  said  not  this  ? 

Lucr.  So  help  me  God, 

1  never  thought  the  things  you  charge  me  with ! 

Cen.     If  you  dare  speak  that  wicked  lie  again, 
I'll  kill  you.     What!  it  was  not  by  your  counsel 
That  Beatrice  disturbed  the  feast  last  night  ? 
You  did  not  hope  to  stir  some  enemies 
Against  me,  and  escape,  and  laugh  to  scorn 
What  every  nerve  of  you  now  trembles  at  ? 
You  judged  that  men  were  bolder  than  they  are  : 
Few  dare  to  stand  between  their  grave  and  me. 

Liter.     Look  not  so  dreadfully  !     By  my  salvation, 
I  knew  not  aught  that  Beatrice  designed ; 
Nor  do  I  think  she  designed  any  thing, 
Until  she  heard  you  talk  of  her  dead  brethers. 

Cen.  Blaspheming  liar !     You  are  damned  for  this ! 
But  I  will  take  you  where  you  may  persuade 
The  stones  you  tread  on  to  deliver  you  : 
For  men  shall  there  be  none  but  those  who  dare 
All  things  ;  not  question  that  which  I  command. 
On  Wednesday  next  I  shall  set  out ;  you  know 
That  savage  rock,  the  Castle  of  Petrella  ? 
'Tis  safely  walled,  and  moated  round  about  ■ 
Its  dungeons  under  ground,  and  its  thick  towers, 
Never  told  tales  ;  though  they  have  heard  and  seen 
What  might  make  dumb  things  speak.     Why  do  you  linger  ? 
Make  speediest  preparation  for  the  journey !     (Exit  Lucretia.) 
The  all-beholding  sun  yet  shines  ;   I  hear 
A  busy  stir  of  men  about  the  streets  ; 
I  see  the  bright  sky  through  the  window  panes : 
It  is  a  garish,  broad,  and  peering  day  ; 
Loud,  light,  suspicious,  full  of  eyes  and  ears ; 
And  every  little  corner,  nook,  and  hole, 
Is  penetrated  with  the  insolent  light. 
Come,  darkness ! — Yet,  what  is  the  day  to  me  ? 
And  wherefore  should  I  wish  for  night,  who  do 
A  deed  which  shall  confound  both  day  and  night? 
'Tis  she  shall  grope  through  a  bewildering  mist 
Of  horror:  if  there  be  a  sun  in  heaven, 
She  shall  not  dare  to  look  upon  its  beams, 
Nor  feel  its  warmth.     Let  her,  then,  wish  for  night; 
The  act  I  think  shall  soon  extinguish  all 


THK  CENC1.  15 

For  me  :  I  bear  a  darker,  deadlier  gloom 

Than  the  earth's  shade,  or  interlunar  air, 

Or  constellations  quenched  in  murkiest  cloud, 

In  which  I  walk  secure  and  unbeheld 

Towards  my  purpose. — Would  that  it  were  done !  (Exit.) 


Scene  II. 

A  Chamber  in  the  Vatican.      Enter  Camillo  and  Giacomo,  in 

conversation. 

Cam.     There  is  an  obsolete  and  doubtful  law, 
By  which  you  might  obtain  a  bare  provision 
Of  food  and  clothing — 

Giac.                             Nothing  more  ?  Alas ! 
Bare  must  be  the  provision  which  strict  law 
Awards,  and  aged  sullen  avarice  pays. 
Why  did  my  father  not  apprentice  me 
To  some  mechanic  trade?   I  should  have  then 
Been  trained  in  no  high-born  necessities 
Which  I  could  meet  not  by  my  daily  toil. 
The  eldest  son  of  a  rich  nobleman 
Is  heir  to  all  his  incapacities ; 
He  has  wide  wants  and  narrow  powers.     If  you, 
Cardinal  Camillo,  were  reduced  at  once 
From  thrice-driven  beds  of  down  and  delicate  food, 
A  hundred  servants  and  six  palaces, 
To  that  which  nature  doth  indeed  require 

Cam.     Nay,  there  is  reason  in  your  plea;  'twere  hard. 

Giac.     'T  is  hard  for  a  firm  man  to  bear  :  but  I 
Have  a  dear  wife,  a  lady  of  high  birth, 
Whose  dowry  in  ill  hour  I  lent  my  father, 
Without  a  bond  or  witness  to  the  deed : 
And  children,  who  inherit  her  fine  senses, 
The  fairest  creatures  in  this  breathing  world  ; 
<Vnd  she  and  they  reproach  me  not.     Cardinal, 
£)o  you  not  think  the  Pope  would  interpose, 
And  stretch  authority  beyond  the  law  ? 

Cam.     Though  your  peculiar  case  is  hard,  I  know 
The  Pope  will  not  divert  the  course  of  law. 
After  that  impious  feast  the  other  night, 
I  spoke  with  him,  and  urged  him  then  to  check 
Your  father's  cruel  hand  ;  he  frowned,  and  said 
"  Children  are  disobedient,  and  they  sting 
Their  fathers'  hearts  to  madness  and  despair, 
Requiting  years  of  care  with  contumely. 
I  pity  the  Count  Cenci  from  my  heart ; 
His  outraged  love  perhaps  awakened  hate, 
And  thus  he  is  exasperated  to  ill. 
In  the  great  war  between  the  old  and  young, 


16  THE  CENCI. 

I,  who  Iiave  white  hairs  and  a  tottering  hody, 
Will  keep  at  least  blameless  neutrality." 

Enter  Orsino. 
You,  my  good  Lord  Orsino,  heard  those  word.;. 

Ors.     What  words  ? 

Giac.  Alas,  repeat  them  not  again ! 

There  then  is  no  redress  for  me  ;  at  least 
None  hut  that  which  I  may  achieve  myself, 
Since  I  am  driven  to  the  brink.     But  say, 
My  innocent  sister  and  my  only  brother 
Are  dying  underneath  my  father's  eye. 
The  memorable  torturers  of  this  land, 
Galeaz  Visconti,  Borgia,  Ezzelin, 
Never  inflicted  on  their  meanest  slave 
What  these  endure  ;  shall  they  have  no  protection  ? 

Cam.  Why,  if  they  would  petition  to  the  Pope, 
I  see  not  how  he  could  refuse  it — yet 
He  holds  it  of  most  dangerous  example 
In  aught  to  weaken  the  paternal  power, 
Being,  as  'twere,  the  shadow  of  his  own. 
I  pray  you  now  excuse  me.     I  have  business 
That  will  not  bear  delay.  {Exit  Camillo.) 

Giac.  But  you,  Orsino, 

Have  the  petition :  wherefore  not  present  it  ? 

Ors.  I  have  presented  it,  and  backed  it  with 
My  earnest  prayers  and  urgent  interest ; 
It  was  returned  unanswered.     I  doubt  not 
But  that  the  strange  and  execrable  deeds 
Alleged  in  it  (in  truth,  they  might  well  baffle 
Any  belief)  have  turned  the  Pope's  displeasure 
Upon  the  accusers  from  the  criminal : 
So  I  should  guess  from  what  Camillo  said. 

Giac.  My  friend,  that  palace-walking  devil,  Gold, 
Has  whispered  silence  to  his  Holiness, 
And,  being  left  as  scorpions  ringed  with  fire, 
What  should  we  do  but  strike  ourselves  to  death  ? 
For  he  who  is  our  murderous  persecutor 
Is  shielded  by  a  father's  holy  name, 
Or  I  would (Stops  abruptly.) 

Ors.  What  ?   Fear  not  to  speak  j-our  thought. 
Words  are  but  holy  as  the  deeds  they  cover : 
A  priest  who  has  forsworn  the  God  he  serves  ; 
A  judge  who  makes  the  truth  weep  at  his  decree; 
A  friend  who  should  weave  counsel,  as  I  now, 
But  as  the  mantle  of  some  selfish  guile ; 
A  father  who  is  all  a  tyrant  seems, 
Were  the  profaner  for  his  sacred  name. 

Giac.     Ask  me  not  what  I  think;  the  unwilling  brain 
Feigns  often  what  it  would  not :  and  we  trust 


THE  CENCI.  .'7 

Impginatio.;  with  such  fantasies 

As  the  tongue  dares  not  fashion  into  words ; 

Which  have  no  words,  their  horror  makes  them  dim 

To  the  mind's  eye.     My  heart  denies  itself 

To  think  what  you  demand. 

Ors.  But  a  friend's  bosom 

Is  as  the  inmost  cave  of  our  own  mind, 
Where  we  sit  shut  from  the  wide  gaze  of  day, 
And  from  the  all -communicating  air. 
You  look  what  I  suspected. 

Giac.  Spare  me,  now! 

I  am  as  one  lost  in  a  midnight  wood, 
Who  dares  not  ask  some  harmless  passenger 
The  path  across  the  wilderness,  lest  he, 
As  my  thoughts  are,  should  be — a  murderer. 
I  know  you  are  my  friend,  and  all  I  dare 
Speak  to  my  soul,  that  will  I  trust  with  thee. 
But  now  my  heart  is  heavy,  and  would  take 
Lone  counsel  from  a  night  of  sleepless  care. 
Pardon  me,  that  I  say  farewell — farewell! 
I  would  that  to  my  own  suspected  self 
I  could  address  a  word  so  full  of  peace. 

Ors.  Farewell! — Be  your  thoughts  better  or  more  bold. 

{Exit  Giacomo.) 
I  had  disposed  the  Cardinal  Camillo 
To  feed  his  hope  with  cold  encouragement : 
It  fortunately  serves  my  close  designs 
That  'tis  a  trick  of  this  same  family 
To  analyse  their  own  and  other  minds. 
Such  self-anatomy  shall  teach  the  will 
Dangerous  secrets ;  for  it  tempts  our  powers, 
Knowing  what  must  be  thought,  and  may  be  done, 
Into  the  depth  of  darkest  purposes: 
So  Cenci  fell  into  the  pit;  even  I, 
Since  Beatrice  unveiled  me  to  myself, 
And  made  me  shrink  from  what  I  cannot  shun, 
Shew  a  poor  figure  to  my  own  esteem, 
To  which  I  grow  half  reconciled.     I  '11  do 
As  little  mischief  as  I  can :  that  thought 
Shall  fee  the  accuser  conscience.  {After  a  pause.) 

Now  what  harm 
If  Cenci  should  be  murdered  ? — Yet,  if  murdered, 
Wherefore  by  me?  and  what  if  I  could  take 
The  profit,  yet  omit  the  sin  and  peril 
In  such  an  action?     Of  all  earthly  things 
I  fear  a  man  whose  blows  outspeed  his  words; 
And  such  is  Cenci :  and  while  Cenci  lives, 
His  daughter's  dowry  were  a  secret  grave, 
If  a  priest  wins  her.— O  fair  Beatrice  1 
Would  that  1  loved  thee  not,  or  loving  thee, 


18  THE  CENCI. 

Could  but  despise  danger  and  gold,  and  all 

That  frowns  between  my  wish  and  its  effect, 

Or  smiles  beyond  it!     There  is  no  escape! 

Her  bright  form  kneels  beside  me  at  the  altar, 

And  follows  me  to  the  resort  of  men, 

And  fills  my  slumber  with  tumultuous  dreams, 

So,  when  I  awake,  my  blood  seems  liquid  fire ; 

And  if  I  strike  my  damp  and  dizzy  head, 

My  hot  palm  scorches  it:  her  very  name, 

But  spoken  by  a  stranger,  makes  my  heart 

Sicken  and  pant;  and  thus  unprofitably 

I  clasp  the  phantom  of  unfelt  delights, 

Till  weak  imagination  half  possesses 

The  self-created  shadow.     Yet  much  longer 

Will  I  not  nurse  this  life  of  feverous  hours: 

From  the  unravelled  hopes  of  Giacomo 

I  must  work  out  my  own  dear  purposes. 

I  see,  as  from  a  tower,  the  end  of  all : 

Her  father  dead ;  her  brother  bound  to  me 

By  a  dark  secret,  surer  than  the  grave ; 

Her  mother  scared  and  unexpostulating, 

From  the  dread  manner  of  her  wish  achieved  : 

And  she! — Once  more  take  courage,  my  faintheart; 

What  dares  a  friendless  maiden  matched  with  thee  ? 

I  have  such  foresight  as  assures  success : 

Some  unbeheld  divinity  doth  ever, 

When  dread  events  are  near,  stir  up  men's  minds 

To  black  suggestions ;  and  he  prospers  best, 

Not  who  becomes  the  instrument  of  ill, 

But  who  can  flatter  the  dark  spirit,  that  makes 

Its  empire  add  its  prey  of  other  hearts, 

Till  it  become  his  slave — as  I  will  do.  (Exit.) 


ACT  III.     Scene  I. 

An  Apartment  in  the  Cenci  Palace.      Lucretia;    to  her  enter 

Beatrice. 

Beatr.   (She  enters  staggering,  and  speaks  wildly.) 
Reach  me  the  handkerchief! — My  brain  is  hurt; 
My  eyes  are  full  of  blood  ;  just  wipe  them  for  me — 
I  see  but  indistinctly: — 

Lucr.  My  sweet  child, 
You  have  no  wound;  'tis  only  a  cold  dew 
That  starts  from  your  dear  brow — Alas !  alas ! 
What  has  befallen  ? 

Beatr.  How  comes  this  hair  undone? 
Its  wandering  strings  must  be  what  blind  mc, 
And  yet  I  tied  it  fast. — O  horrible ! 
The  pavement  sinks  under  my  feet !  The  walls 
Spin  round!   I  see  a  woman  weeping  there, 


THE  GENU.  19 

And  standing  calm  and  motionless,  whilst  I 

Slide  giddily  as  the  world  reels — My  God! 

The  beautiful  blue  heaven  is  decked  with  blood! 

The  sunshine  on  the  floor  is  black !  The  air 

Is  changed  to  vapours  such  as  the  dead  breathe 

In  charnel  pits  ! — Pah  !   I  am  choked  !  There  creeps 

A  clinging,  black,  contaminating  mist 

About  me — -'tis  substantial,  heavy,  thick; 

I  cannot  pluck  it  1'rom  me,  for  it  glues 

My  ringers  and  my  limbs  to  one  another, 

And  eats  into  my  sinews,  and  dissolves 

My  flesh  to  a  pollution,  poisoning 

The  subtle,  pure,  and  inmost  spirit  of  life  ! 

My  God !   I  never  knew  what  the  mad  felt 

Before;  for  I  am  mad  beyond  all  doubt!  (More  wildly.) 

No,  I  am  dead !  These  putrefying  limbs 

Shut  round  and  sepulchre  the  panting  soul, 

Which  would  burst  forth  into  the  wandering  air!      (A pause.) 

What  hideous  thought  was  that  I  had  e'en  now? 

"lis  gone  ;  and  yet  its  burthen  remains  here 

O'er  these  dull  eyes — upon  this  weary  heart ! 

0  world  !   O  life  !  O  day  !  O  misery  ! 

Liter.  What  ails  thee,  my  poor  child? — She  answers  not; 
Her  spirit  apprehends  the  sense  of  pain, 
But  not  its  cause  ;  suffering  has  dried  away 
The  source  from  which  it  sprung. 

Beatr.  (franticfy.)  Like  parricide — 

Misery  has  killed  its  father:  yet  its  father 
Never  like  mine — O  God !  what  thing  am  I  ? 

Lucr.  My  dearest  child,  what  has  your  father  done? 

Beatr.  (doubtfully.)  Who  art  thou,  questioner  ?  I  have  no  fat  her 
(Aside.)     She  is  the  mad-house  nurse,  who  tends  on  me. 
It  is  a  piteous  office. 
(To  Lucretia,  in  a  sloiu  subdued  voice.)       Do  you  know 

1  thought  I  was  that  wretched  Beatrice 

Men  speak  of,  whom  her  father  sometimes  hales 
From  hall  to  hall  by  the  entangled  hah  ; 
At  others,  pens  up  naked  in  damp  cells, 
Where  scaly  reptiles  crawl,  and  starves  her  there, 
Till  she  will  eat  strange  flesh.     This  woful  story 
So  did  I  overact  in  my  sick  dreams, 
That  I  imagined — no,  it  cannot  be ! 
Horrible  things  have  been  in  this  wild  world, 
Prodigious  mixtures,  and  confusions  strange, 
Of  good  and  ill ;  and  worse  have  been  conceived 
Than  ever  there  was  found  a  heart  to  do. 
But  never  fancy  imagined  such  a  deed 

As (Pauses,  suddenly  recollecting  herself.) 

Who  art  thou  ?  Swear  to  me,  ere  I  die 
With  fearful  expectation,  that  indeed 


20  THE  CENCI. 

Thou  art  not  what  thou  seemest — Mother! 

Lucr.   Oh! 
My  sweet  child,  know  you — 

Beat.   Yet  speak  it  not: 
For  then  if  this  be  truth,  that  other  too 
Must  be  a  truth,  a  firm  enduring  truth, 
Linked  with  each  lasting  circumstance  of  life, 
Never  to  change,  never  to  pass  away. 
Why  so  it  is.     This  is  the  Cenci  Palace; 
Thou  art  Lucretia ;   I  am  Beatrice. 
I  have  talked  some  wild  words,  but  will  no  more. 
Mother,  come  near  me :  from  this  point  of  time, 
I  am —  (Her  voice  dies  away  faintly.) 

Lucr.  Alas !  what  has  befallen  thee,  child  ? 
What  has  thy  father  done  ? 

Beatr.  What  have  I  done  ? 

Am  I  not  innocent?   Is  it  my  crime 
That  one  with  white  hair,  and  imperious  brow, 
Who  tortured  me  from  my  forgotten  years, 
As  parents  only  dare,  should  call  himself 

My  father,  yet  should  be ! Oh,  what  am  I  ? 

What  name,  what  place,  what  memory,  shall  be  mine? 
What  retrospects,  outliving  even  despair? 

Lucr.  He  is  a  violent  tyrant,  surely,  child: 
We  know  that  death  alone  can  make  us  free: 
His  death  or  ours.     But  what  can  he  have  done 
Of  deadlier  outrage  or  worse  injury? 
Thou  art  unlike  thyself;  thine  eyes  shoot  forth 
A  wandering  and  strange  spirit.     Speak  to  me ; 
Unlock  those  pallid  hands,  whose  fingers  twine 
With  one  another. 

Beatr.  'Tis  the  restless  life 

Tortured  within  them.     If  I  try  to  speak, 
I  shall  go  mad.     Ay,  something  must  be  done; 
What,  yet  I  know  not — something  which  shall  maice 
The  thing  that  I  have  suffered  but  a  shadow 
In  the  dread  lightning  which  avenges  it; 
Brief,  rapid,  irreversible,  destroying 
The  consequence  of  what  it  cannot  cure. 
Some  such  thing  is  to  be  endured  or  done : 
When  I  know  what,  I  shall  be  still  and  calm, 
And  never  anything  will  move  me  more. 
But  now  ! — O  blood,  which  art  my  father's  bloody 
Circling  through  these  contaminated  veins! 
If  thou,  poured  forth  on  the  polluted  earth, 
Could  wash  away  the  crime  and  punishment 
By  which  I  sutler — no,  that  cannot  be ! 
Many  might  doubt  there  were  a  God  above, 
Who  sees  and  permits  evil,  and  so  die : 
That  faith  no  agony  shall  obscure  in  me. 


THE  CENCI.  21 

Lucr .  It  must  indeed  have  been  some  bitter  wrong; 
Yet  what,  I  dare  not  guess.     O  my  lost  child ! 
Hide  not  in  proud  impenetrable  grief 
Thy  sufferings  from  my  fear. 

Beatr.  I  hide  them  not. 

What  are  the  words  which  you  would  have  me  speak? 
I,  who  can  feign  no  image  in  my  mind 
Of  that  which  has  transformed  me :   I,  whose  thought 
Is  like  a  ghost  shrouded  and  folded  up 
In  its  own  formless  horror :  of  all  words, 
That  minister  to  mortal  intercourse, 
Which  wouldst  thou  hear?     For  there  is  none  to  tell 
My  misery  :  if  another  ever  knew 
Aught  like  to  it,  she  died  as  I  will  die, 
And  left  it,  as  I  must,  without  a  name. 
Death !  Death !  Our  law  and  our  religion  call  thee 
A  punishment  and  a  reward. — Oh,  which 
Have  I  deserved? 

Lucr.  The  peace  of  innocence, 

Till  in  your  season  you  be  called  to  heaven. 
Whate'er  you  may  have  sufiered,  you  have  done 
No  evil.     Death  must  be  the  punishment 
Of  crime,  or  the  reward  of  trampling  down 
The  thorns  which  God  has  strewed  upon  the  path 
Which  leads  us  to  immortality. 

Beatr.  Ay,  death — 

The  punishment  of  crime.     I  pray  thee,  God, 
Let  me  not  be  bewildered  while  I  judge. 
If  I  must  live  day  after  day,  and  keep 
These  limbs,  the  unworthy  temple  of  thy  spirit, 
As  a  foul  den  from  which  what  thou  abhorrest 
May  mock  thee,  unavenged — it  shall  not  be ! 
Self  murder? — no,  that  might  be  no  escape, 
For  thy  decree  yawns  like  a  Hell  between 
Our  will  and  it.     Oh !  in  this  mortal  world 
There  is  no  vindication  and  no  law 
Which  can  adjudge  and  execute  the  doom 
Of  that  through  which  I  suffer. 

Enter  Orsino. 

(She  approaches  him  solemnly.)     Welcome,  friend! 

I  have  to  tell  you  that,  since  last  we  met, 

I  have  endured  a  wrong  so  great  and  strange, 

That  neither  life  nor  death  can  give  me  rest. 

Ask  me  not  what  it  is,  for  there  are  deeds 

Which  have  no  form,  sufferings  which  have  no  tongue. 

Or.;.  And  what  is  he  who  has  thus  injured  you? 

Beatr.  The  man  they  call  my  father:  a  dread  name. 

Ors.  It  cannot  be — ■ 

Beatr.  What  it  can  be,  or  not, 

3 


22  THE  CENCI. 

Forbid  to  think.     It  is,  and  it  has  been  ; 
Advise  me  how  it  shall  not  be  again. 
I  thought  to  die  ;  but  a  religious  awe 
Restrains  me,  and  the  dread  least  death  itself 
Might  be  no  refuge  from  the  consciousness 
Of  what  is  yet  unexpiated.     Oh,  speak ! 

Ors.  Accuse  him  of  the  deed,  and  let  the  law 
Avenge  thee. 

Beatr.  O  ice-hearted  counsellor  ! 

If  I  could  find  a  word  that  might  make  known 
The  crime  of  my  destroyer ;  and  that  done, 
My  tongue  should,  like  a  knife,  tear  out  the  secret 
Which  cankers  my  heart's  core :  ay,  lay  all  bare, 
So  that  my  unpolluted  fame  should  be 
With  vilest  gossips  a  stale  mouthed  story ; 
A  mock,  a  byeword,  an  astonishment : — 
If  this  were  done,  which  never  shall  be  done, 
Think  of  the  offender's  gold,  his  dreaded  hate, 
And  the  strange  horror  of  the  accuser's  tale, 
Baffling  belief,  and  overpowering  speech: 
Scarce  whispered,  unimaginable,  wrapt 
In  hideous  hints — O  most  assured  redress  ! 

Ors.  You  will  endure  it  then  ? 

Beatr.  Endure!  Orsino, 

It  seems  your  counsel  is  small  profit. 
(Turns  from  him,  and  speaks  half  to  herself.)     Ay, 
All  must  be  suddenly  resolved  and  done. 
What  is  this  undistinguishable  mist 
Of  thoughts,  which  rise,  like  shadow  after  shadow, 
Darkening  each  other  ? 

Ors.  Should  the  offender  live  ? 

Triumph  in  his  misdeed  ?  and  make,  by  use, 
His  crime,  whate'er  it  is,  dreadful  no  doubt, 
Thine  element ;  until  thou  mayest  become 
Utterly  lost ;  subdued  even  to  the  hue 
Of  that  which  thou  permittest  ? 

Beatr.  (To  herself.)  Mighty  death  ! 

Thou  double-visaged  shadow  !  Only  judge  ! 
Rightfullest  arbiter  !  (She  retires  absorbed  in  though!.) 

Lucr.   If  the  lightning 
Of  God  has  e'er  descended  to  avenge — 

Ors.   Blaspheme  not !   His  high  Providence  commits 
Its  glory  on  this  earth,  and  their  own  wrongs 
Into  the  hands  of  men;  if  they  neglect 
To  punish  crime — 

Lucr.  But  if  one,  like  this  wretch, 

Should  mock,  with  gold,  opinion,  law,  and  power — 
If  there  be  no  appeal  to  that  which  makes 
The  guiltiest  tremble?  if,  because  our  wrongs, 
For  that  they  are  unnatural,  strange,  and  monstrous, 


THE  CENCI.  23 

Exceed  all  measure  of  belief? — 0  God! 
If,  for  the  very  reasons  which  should  make 
Redress  most  swift  and  sure,  our  injurer  triumphs— 
And  we,  the  victims,  bear  worse  punishment 
Than  that  appointed  for  their  torturer  1 — 

Ors.  Think  not 

But  that  there  is  redress  where  there  is  wrong, 
So  we  be  bold  enough  to  seize  it. 

Lucr.  ■     How? 

If  there  were  any  way  to  make  all  sure, 
I  know  not — but  I  think  it  might  be  good 
To— 

Ors.         Why,  his  late  outrage  to  Beatrice ; 
For  it  is  such,  as  I  but  faintly  guess, 
As  makes  remorse  dishonour,  and  leaves  her 
Only  one  duty,  how  she  may  avenge : 
You,  but  one  refuge  from  ills  ill  endured ; 
Me,  but  one  counsel — 

Lucr.  For  we  cannot  hope 

That  aid,  or  retribution,  or  resource, 
Will  arise  thence,  where  every  other  one 

Might  find  them  with  less  need.  (Beatrice  advances.) 

Ors.  Then— 
Beatr.  Peace,  Orsino ! — 

And,  honoured  Lady,  while  I  speak,  I  pray 

That  you  put  off,  as  garments  overworn, 

Forbearance  and  respect,  remorse  and  fear, 

And  all  the  fit  restraints  of  daily  life, 

Which  have  been  borne  from  chidhood,  but  which  now 

Would  be  a  mockery  to  my  holier  plea. 

As  I  have  said,  I  have  endured  a  wrong, 

Which,  though  it  be  expressionless,  is  such 

As  asks  atonement,  both  for  what  is  past, 

And  lest  I  be  reserved,  day  after  day, 

To  load  with  crimes  an  overburthened  soul, 

And  be — what  ye  can  dream  not.     I  have  prayed 

To  God,  and  I  have  talked  with  my  own  heart, 

And  have  unravelled  my  entangled  will, 

And  have  at  length  determined  what  is  right 

Art  thou  my  friend,  Orsino ?     False  or  true? 

Pledge  thy  salvation  ere  I  speak. 

Ors.  I  swear 

To  dedicate  my  cunning,  and  my  strength, 

My  silence,  and  whatever  else  is  mine, 

To  thy  commands. 

Lucr.  You  think  we  should  devise 

Hisdeafti? 

Beatr.  And  execute  what  is  devised, 

And  suddenly.     We  must  be  brief  and  bold. 
Ors.  And  yet  most  cautious. 


24  THE  CENCI. 

Lucr.  For  the  jealous  laws 

Would  punish  us  with  death  and  infamy 
For  that  which  it  hecame  themselves  to  do. 

Beatr.  Be  cautious  as  ye  may,  but  prompt.     Orsino, 
What  are  the  means  ? 

Ors.  I  know  two  dull  fierce  outlaws, 

Who  think  man's  spirit  as  a  worm's,  and  they 
Would  trample  out,  for  any  slight  caprice, 
The  meanest  or  the  noblest  life.     This  mood 
Is  marketable  here  in  Rome.     They  sell 
What  we  now  want. 

Lucr.  To-morrow,  before  dawn, 

Cenci  will  take  us  to  that  lonely  rock, 
Petrella,  in  the  Apulian  Appennines. 
If  he  arrive  there — 

Beatr.  He  must  not  arrive. 

Ors.  Will  it  be  dark  before  you  reach  the  tower  t 

Lucr.  The  sun  will  scarce  be  set. 

Beatr.  But  I  remember 

Two  miles  on  this  side  of  the  fort,  the  road 
Crosses  a  deep  ravine ;  'tis  rough  and  narrow, 
And  winds  with  short  turns  down  the  precipice ; 
And  in  its  depth  there  is  a  mighty  rock, 
Which  has,  from  unimaginable  years, 
Sustained  itself  with  terror  and  with  toil 
Over  a  gulph,  and  with  the  agony 
With  which  it  clings  seems  slowly  coming  down; 
Even  as  a  wretched  soul,  hour  after  hour, 
Clings  to  the  mass  of  life,  yet  clinging,  leans  ; 
And,  leaning,  makes  more  dark  the  dread  abyss 
In  which  it  fears  to  fall, — beneath  this  crag 
Huge  as  despair,  as  if  in  weariness, 
The  melancholy  mountain  yawns ;  below, 
You  hear  but  see  not  an  impetuous  torrent 
Raging  among  the  caverns,  and  a  bridge 
Crosses  the  chasm ;  and  high  above  there  grow, 
With  intersecting  trunks,  from  crag  to  crag, 
Cedars,  and  yews,  and  pines;  whose  tangled  hair 
Is  matted  in  one  solid  roof  of  shade 
By  the  dark  ivy's  twine.     At  noon-day  here 
"lis  twilight,  and  at  sunset,  blackest  night. 

Ors.  Before  you  reach  that  bridge,  make  some  excuse 
For  spurring  on  your  mules,  or  loitering 
Until— 

Beatr.  What  sound  is  that? 

Lucr.  Hark!   No,  it  cannot  be  a  servant's  step; 
It  must  be  Cenci,  unexpectedly  • 

Returned. — Make  some  excuse  for  being  here. 

Beatr.  (To  Orsino,  as  slu  goes  out.) 
That  step  we  hear  approach  must  never  pass 


THE  CENCI.  25 

The  bridge  of  which  we  spoke.  (Exeunt  Lucretia  mid  Beatrice.) 

Ors.  What  shall  I  do  ? 

Cenci  must  find  me  here,  and  I  must  bear 
The  imperious  inquisition  of  his  looks 
As  to  what  brought  me  hither :  let  me  mask 
Mine  own  in  some  inane  and  vacant  smile. 

Enter  GlACOMO,  in  a  hurried  manner. 

How !     Have  you  ventured  thither  ?     Know  you  then 

That  Cenci  is  from  home? 

Giac.  I  sought  him  here, 

And  now  must  wait  till  he  returns. 

Ors.  Great  God! 

Weigh  you  the  danger  of  this  rashness? 
Giac.     Ay, 

Does  my  destroyer  know  his  danger  ?     We 

Are  now  no  more,  as  once,  parent  and  child, 

But  man  to  man  ;  the  oppressor  to  the  oppressed, 

The  slanderer  to  the  slandered ;  foe  to  foe. 

He  has  cast  Nature  off,  which  was  his  shield, 

And  Nature  casts  him  off,  who  is  her  shame; — ■ 

And  I  spurn  both.     It  is  a  father's  throat 

Which  I  will  shake,  and  say  I  ask  not  gold ; 

I  ask  not  happy  years ;  nor  memories 

Of  tranquil  childhood  ;  nor  home-sheltered  love; 

Though  all  these  hast  thou  torn  from  me,  and  more ; 

But  only  my  fair  fame ;  only  one  hoard 

Of  peace,  which  I  thought  hidden  from  thy  hate, 

Under  the  penury  heaped  on  me  by  thee; 

Or  I  will — God  can  understand  and  pardon, 

Why  should  I  speak  with  man  ? 

Ors.  Be  calm,  dear  friend. 

Giac.     Well,  I  will  calmly  tell  you  what  he  did. 

This  old  Francesco  Cenci,  as  you  know, 

Borrowed  the  dowry  of  my  wife  from  me, 

And  then  denied  the  loan ;  and  left  me  so 

In  poverty,  the  which  I  sought  to  mend 

By  holding  a  poor  office  in  the  state. 

It  had  been  promised  to  me,  and  already 

I  bought  new  clothing  for  my  ragged  babes, 

And  my  wife  smiled,  and  my  heart  knew  repose; 

When  Cenci's  intercession,  as  I  found, 

Conferred  this  office  on  a  wretch  whom  thus 

He  paid  for  vilest  service.     I  returned 

With  this  ill  news,  and  we  sat  sad  together 

Solacing  our  despondency  with  tears 

Of  such  affection  and  unbroken  faith 

As  temper  life's  worst  bitterness ;  when  he, 

As  he  is  wont,  came  to  upbraid  and  curse, 

Mocking  our  poverty,  and  telling  us 


20  THE  CENCI. 

Such  was  God's  scourge  for  disobedient  sons. 

And  then,  that  I  might  strike  him  dumb  with  shame, 

I  spoke  of  my  wife's  dowry;  but  he  coined 

A  brief  yet  specious  tale,  how  I  had  wasted 

The  sum  in  secret  riot ;  and  he  saw 

My  wife  was  touched,  and  he  went  smiling  forth. 

And  when  I  knew  the  impression  he  had  made, 

And  felt  my  wife  insult  with  silent  scorn 

My  ardent  truth,  and  look  averse  and  cold, 

I  went  forth  too :  but  soon  returned  again  ; 

Yet  not  so  soon  but  that  my  wife  had  taught 

My  children  her  harsh  thoughts,  and  they  all  cried, 

"  Give  us  clothes,  father !  give  us  better  food ; 

What  you  in  one  night  squander  were  enough 

For  months !"   I  looked,  and  saw  that  home  was  hell. 

And  to  that  hell  will  I  return  no  more, 

Until  mine  enemy  has  rendered  up 

Atonement,  or,  as  he  gave  life  to  me, 

I  will,  reversing  nature's  law — 

Ors.  Trust  me, 

The  compensation  which  thou  seekest  here 
Will  be  denied. 

Giac.  Then — Are  you  not  my  friend  ? 

Did  you  not  hint  at  the  alternative, 
Upon  the  brink  of  which  you  see  1  stand, 
The  other  day  when  we  conversed  together? 
My  wrongs  were  then  less.     That  word  parricide, 
Although  I  am  resolved,  haunts  me  like  fear. 

Ors.  It  must  be  fear  itself,  for  the  bare  word 
Is  hollow  mockery.     Mark,  how  wisest  God 
Draws  to  one  point  the  threads  of  a  just  doom, 
So  sanctifying  it :  what  you  devise 
Is,  as  it  were,  accomplished. 

Giac.  Is  he  dead  ? 

Ors.     His  grave  is  ready.     Know  that  since  we  met 
Ccnci  has  done  an  outrage  to  his  daughter. 

Giac.  What  outrage? 

Ors.  That  she  speaks  not,  but  you  may 

Conceive  such  half  conjectures  as  I  do, 
From  her  fixed  paleness,  and  the  lofty  grief 
Of  her  stern  brow,  bent  on  the  idle  air, 
And  her  severe  unmodulated  voice, 
Drowning  both  tenderness  and  dread;  and  last 
From  this;  that,  whilst  her  step-mother  and  I, 
Bewildered  in  our  horror,  talked  together 
With  obscure  hints  ;  both  self-misunderstood, 
And  darkly  guessing,  stumbling  in  our  talk 
Over  the  truth,  and  yet  to  its  revenge, 
She  interrupted  us,  and  with  a  look 
Which  told,  before  she  spoke  it,  he  must  die ! — 


THE  CENCI.  27 

Giac.     It  is  enough.     My  doubts  arc  well  appeased. 
Thcie  is  a  higher  reason  for  the  act 
Thau  mine  ;  there  is  a  holier  judge  than  I, 
A  more  unblamed  avenger.     Beatrice, 
Who,  in  the  gentleness  of  thy  sweet  youth, 
Has  never  trodden  on  a  worm,  or  bruised 
A  living  flower,  but  thou  hast  pitied  it 
With  needless  tears  ! — fair  sister,  thou  in  whom 
Men  wondered  how  such  loveliness  and  wisdom 
Did  not  destroy  each  other ! — is  there  made 
Ravage  of  thee?     O  heart,  I  ask  no  more 
Justification!  Shall  I  wait,  Orsino, 
Till  he  return,  and  stab  him  at  the  door  ? 

Ors.     Not  so  ;  some  accident  might  interpose 
To  rescue  him  from  what  is  now  most  sure ; 
And  you  are  unprovided  where  to  fly, 
How  to  excuse  or  to  conceal.     Nay,  listen : 
All  is  contrived  ;  success  is  so  assured 
That— 

Enter  Beatrice. 

Beatr.  'Tis  my  brother's  voice  !    You  know  me  not? 

Giac.  My  sister,  my  lost  sister ! 

Beatr.  Lost,  indeed ! 

I  see  Orsino  has  talked  with  you,  and 
That  you  conjecture  things  too  horrible 
To  speak,  yet  far  less  than  the  truth.     Now,  stay  not, 
He  might  return  ;  yet  kiss  me ;   I  shall  know 
That  then  thou  hast  consented  to  his  death. 
Farewell,  farewell !  Let  piety  to  God, 
Brotherly  love,  justice,  and  clemency, 
And  all  things  that  make  tender  hardest  hearts, 
Make  thine  hard,  brother.     Answer  not :  farewell. 

(Exeunt  severally.) 


Scene  II. 
A  mean  apartment  in  Giacomo's  house.     Giacomo  alone. 

Giac.     'Tis  midnight,  and  Orsino  comes  not  yet. 

{Thunder,  and  the  sound  of  a  storm.) 
What !  can  the  everlasting  elements 
Feel  with  a  worm  like  man?   If  so,  the  shaft 
Of  mercy-winged  lightning  would  not  fall 
On  stones  and  trees.     My  wife  and  children  sleep : 
They  are  now  living  in  unmeaning  dreams: 
But  I  must  wake,  still  doubting  if  that  deed 
Be  just  which  was  most  necessary.     O, 
Thou  unreplenished  lamp  !  whose  narrow  fire 
Is  shaken  by  the  wind,  and  on  whose  edge 
Devouring  darkness  hovers !     Thou  small  flame, 


23  THE  CENCI. 

Which,  as  a  dying  pulse  rises  and  falls, 

Still  flickercst  up  and  down,  how  very  soon, 

Did  I  not  feed  thee,  wouldst  thou  fail,  and  be 

As  thou  hadst  never  been !  So  wastes  and  sinks 

Even  now,  perhaps,  the  life  that  kindled  mine: 

But  that  no  power  can  fill  with  vital  oil 

That  broken  lamp  of  flesh.     Ha!  'tis  the  blood 

Which  fed  these  veins,  that  ebbs  till  all  is  cold; 

It  is  the' form  that  moulded  mine,  that  sinks 

Into  the  white  and  yellow  spasms  of  death  ; 

It  is  the  soul  by  which  mine  was  arrayed 

In  God's  immortal  likeness,  which  now  stands 

Naked  before  Heaven's  judgment  seat!  (A  bell  ctrikes.) 

One!  Two! 
The  hour  crawls  on;  and,  when  my  hairs  are  white, 
My  son  will  then  perhaps  be  waiting  thus, 
Tortured  between  just  hate  and  vain  remorse  ; 
Chiding  the  tardy  messenger  of  news 
Like  those  which  I  expect.     I  almost  wish 
He  be  not  dead,  although  my  wrongs  are  great: 
Yet — 'tis  Orsino's  step — 

Enter  Orsino. 

Speak! 

Ors.  I  am  come 

To  say  he  has  escaped. 

Giac.  Escaped ! 

Ors.  And  safe 

Within  Petrella.     He  pass'd  by  the  spot 
Appointed  for  the  deed  an  hour  too  soon. 

Giac.  Are  we  the  fools  of  such  contingencies  ? 
And  do  we  waste  in  blind  misgivings  thus 
The  hours  when  we  should  act?  Then  wind  and  thunder, 
Which  seemed  to  howl  his  knell,  is  the  loud  laughter 
With  which  Heaven  mocks  our  weakness!   I  henceforth 
Will  ne'er  repent  of  aught  designed  or  done, 
But  my  repentance. 

Ors.  See,  the  lamp  is  out. 

Giac.  If  no  remorse  is  ours  when  the  dim  air 
Has  drunk  this  innocent  flame,  why  should  we  quail 
When  Cenci's  life,  that  light  by  which  ill  spirits 
See  the  worse  deeds  they  prompt,  shall  sink  for  ever  ? 
No,  I  am  hardened. 

Ors.  Why,  what  need  of  this? 
Who  feared  the  pale  intrusion  of  remorse 
In  a  just  deed  ?  Although  our  first  plan  failed, 
Doubt  not  but  he  will  soon  be  laid  to  rest 
But  light  the  lamp  ;  let  us  not  talk  i'the  dark. 

Giac.   (lighting  the  lamp.) 
And  yet,  once  quenched,  I  cannot  thus  relume 


THE  CENCI.  29 

My  father's  life  :  do  you  not  think  his  ghost 
Might  plead  that  argument  with  God  ? 

Ors.  Once  gone, 

You  cannot  now  recal  your  sister's  peace ; 
Your  own  extinguished  years  of  youth  and  hope  ; 
Nor  your  wife's  bitter  words ;  nor  all  the  taunts 
Which,  from  the  prosperous,  weak  misfortune  takes; 
Nor  your  dead  mother;  nor — 

Giac.  Oh,  speak  no  more! 

1  am  resolved,  although  this  very  hand 
Must  quench  the  life  that  animated  it. 

Ors.  There  is  no  need  of  that.     Listen  :  you  know 
Olimpio,  the  castellan  of  Petrella 
In  old  Colonna's  time;  him  whom  your  father 
Degraded  from  his  post ;  and  Marzio, 
That  desperate  wTetch,  whom  he  deprived  last  year 
Of  a  reward  of  blood,  well  earned  and  due. 

Giac.   I  knew  Olimpio ;  and  they  say  he  hated 
Old  Cenci  so,  that  in  his  silent  rage 
His  lips  grew  white  only  to  see  him  pass. 
Of  ?>Iarzio  I  know  nothing. 

Ors.  Marzio's  hate 

Matches  Olimpio's.     I  have  sent  these  men, 
But  in  your  name,  and  as  at  your  request, 
To  talk  with  Beatrice  and  Lucretia. 

Giac.   Only  to  talk  ? 

Ors.  The  moments  which  even  now 

Pass  onward  to  to-morrow's  midnight  hour, 
May  memorise  their  flight  with  death  :  ere  then 
They  must  have  talked,  and  may  perhaps  have  done, 
And  made  an  end — 

Giac.  Listen!  "What  sound  is  that? 

Ors.  The  house-dog  moans,  and  the  beams  cracR:  nought  else. 

Giac.  It  is  my  wife  complaining  in  her  sleep  : 
I  doubt  not  she  is  saying  bitter  things 
Of  me  ;  and  all  my  children  round  her  dreaming 
That  I  deny  them  sustenance. 

Ors.  Whilst  he 

Who  truly  took  it  from  them,  and  who  fills 
Their  hungry  rest  with  bitterness,  now  sleeps 
Lapped  in  bad  pleasures,  and  triumphantly 
Mocks  thee  in  visions  of  successful  hate, 
Too  like  the  truth  of  day. 

Giac.  If  e'er  he  wakes 

Again,  I  will  not  trust  to  hireling  hands — 

Ors.  Why,  that  were  well.     1  must  be  gone  ;  good  night. 
When  next  we  meet  may  all  be  clone  ! 

Giac.  And  all 

Forgotten.     Oh,  that  I  had  never  been ! 

{Exeunt.) 


30  THE  CENCI. 

ACT  IV.     Scene  I. 
An  Apartment  in   the  Castle  of  Petrella.     Elite*  C'ENCI, 

Cen.  She  comes  not ;  yet  I  left  her  even  now 
Vanquished  and  faint.     She  knows  the  penalty 
Of  her  delay :  yet  what  if  threats  are  vain  ? 
Am  I  not  now  within  Petrella's  moat? 
Or  fear  I  still  the  eyes  and  years  of  Rome  ? 
Might  I  not  drag  her  by  the  golden  hair? 
Stamp  on  her?    Keep  her  sleeplefs,  till  her  brain 
Be  overworn?  Tame  her  with  chains  and  famine? 
Less  would  suffice.     Yet  so  to  leave  undone 
What  I  most  seek !  No,  'tis  her  stubborn  will, 
Which,  by  its  own  consent,  shall  stoop  as  low 
As  that  which  drags  it  down. 

Enter  Lucretia. 

Thou  loathed  wretch ! 
Hide  thee  from  my  abhorrence  !  fly,  begone ! 
Yet  stay  !  Bid  Beatrice  come  hither. 

Lucr.  Oh, 

Husband !  I  pray,  for  thine  own  wretched  sake, 
Heed  what  thou  dost.     A  man  who  walks  like  thee 
Th.vough  crimes,  and  through  the  danger  of  his  crimes, 
Each  hour  may  stumble  o'er  a  sudden  grave. 
And  thou  art  old  ;  thy  hairs  are  hoary  grey. 
As  thou  wouldst  save  thyself  from  death  and  hell, 
Pity  thy  daughter ;  give  her  to  some  friend 
In  marriage  ;  so  that  she  may  tempt  thee  not 
To  hatred,  or  worse  thoughts,  if  worse  there  be. 

Cen.  What!  like  her  sister,  who  has  found  a  home 
To  mock  my  hate  from  with  prosperity  ? 
Strange  ruin  shall  destroy  both  her  and  thee, 
And  all  that  yet  remain.     My  death  may  be 
Rapid,  her  destiny  outspeeds  it.     Go, 
Bid  her  come  hither,  and  before  my  mood 
Be  changed,  lest  I  should  drag  her  by  the  hair. 

Lucr.  She  sent  me  to  thee,  husband.     At  thy  presence 
She  fell,  as  thou  dost  know,  into  a  trance ; 
And  in  that  trance  she  heard  a  voice  which  said, 
"  Cenci  must  die  !  Let  him  confess  himself! 
Even  now  the  accusing  angel  waits  to  hear 
If  God,  to  punish  his  enormous  crimes, 
Harden  his  dying  heart !" 

Cen.  Why — such  things  are: 

No  doubt  divine  revealings  may  be  made. 
'Tis  plain  I  have  been  favoured  from  above, 
For  when  I  cursed  my  sons  they  died — Ay — so  — 
As  to  the  right  or  wrong,  that's  talk — repentance — 
Repentance  is  an  easy  moment's  work, 


THE  CENCI.  31 

And  more  depends  on  God  than  me.     Well — well — 

I  must  give  up  the  greater  point,  which  was 

To  poison  and  corrupt  her  soul. 

(A  pause  ;  Lucretia  approaches  anxiously,  and  then  shrinks  back 

as  he  speaks.)  One,  two; 

Ay — Rocco  and  Cristofano  my  curse 
Strangled :  and  Giacomo,  I  think,  will  find 
Life  a  worse  hell  than  that  beyond  the  grave : 
Beatrice  shall,  if  there  be  skill  in  hate, 
Die  in  despair,  blaspheming :  to  Bernardo, 
He  is  so  innocent,  I  will  bequeath 
The  memory  of  these  deeds,  and  make  his  youth 
The  sepulchre  of  hope,  where  evil  thoughts 
Shall  grow  like  weeds  on  a  neglected  tomb. 
When  all  is  done,  out  in  the  wide  Campagna 
I  will  pile  up  my  silver  and  my  gold ; 
My  costly  robes,  paintings,  and  tapestries  ; 
My  parchments,  and  all  records  of  my  wealth  ; 
And  make  a  bonfire  in  my  joy,  and  leave 
Of  my  possessions  nothing  but  my  name ; 
Which  shall  be  an  inheritance  to  strip 
Its  wearer  bare  as  infamy.     That  done, 
My  soul,  which  is  a  scourge,  will  I  resign 
Into  the  hands  of  him  who  wielded  it. 
Be  it  for  its  own  punishment  01  theirs, 
He  will  not  ask  it  of  me  till  the  lash 
Be  broken  in  its  last  and  deepest  wound — 
Until  its  hate  be  all  inflicted.     Yet, 
Lest  death  outspeed  my  purpose,  let  me  make 
Short  work  and  sure —  (Going.) 

Liter,  (stops  him.)  Oh,  stay  !   It  was  a  feint : 
She  had  no  vision,  aad  she  heard  no  voice. 
I  said  it  but  to  awe  thee. 

Cen.  That  is  well. 

Vile  palterer  with  the  sacred  truth  of  God, 
Be  thy  soul  choked  with  that  blaspheming  lie ! 
For  Beatrice,  worse  terrors  are  in  store. 
To  bend  her  to  my  will. 

Lucr.  Oh  !  to  what  will  ? 

What  cruel  sufferings,  more  than  she  has  known, 
Canst  thou  inflict  i 

Cen.  Andrea,  go  call  my  daughter ; 

And  if  she  comes  not,  tell  her  that  I  come. 
What  sufferings  ?      I  will  drag  her,  step  by  step, 
Through  infamies  unheard  of  among  men: 
She  shall  stand  shelterless  in  the  broad  noon 
Of  public  scorn,  for  acts  blazoned  abroad, 
One  among  which  shall  be — What  > — Canst  thou  guess? 
She  shall  become  (for  what  she  most  abhors, 
Shall  have  a  fascination  to  entrap 


32  THE  CENCI. 

Her  loathing  will)  to  her  own  conscious  self 
All  she  appears  to  others  ;  and,  when  dead, 
As  she  shall  die  unshrived  and  unforgiven, 
A  rebel  to  her  father  and  her  God, 
Her  corpse  shall  be  abandoned  to  the  hounds; 
Her  name  shall  be  the  terror  of  the  earth  ; 
Her  spirit  shall  approach  the  throne  of  God 
Plague-spotted  with  my  curses.     I  will  make 
Body  and  soul  a  monstrous  lump  of  ruin. 

Enter  Andrea. 

Andr.  The  lady  Beatrice — 

Cen.  Speak,  pale  slave  !  What 

Said  she  ? 

Andr.        My  Lord,  'twas  what  she  looked;  she  said: 
"  Go,  tell  my  father  that  I  see  the  gulph 
Of  Hell  between  us  two,  which  he  may  pass, — 
I  will  not."  {Exit  Andrea.) 

Cen.         Go  thou  quick,  Lucretia; 
Tell  her  to  come  ;  yet  let  her  understand 
Her  coming  is  consent;  and  say,  moreover, 
That  if  she  come  not  I  will  curse  her.  (Exit  Lucretia.) 

Ha! 
With  what  but  with  a  father's  curse  doth  God 
Panic-strike  armed  victory,  and  make  pale 
Cities  in  their  prosperity  ?     The  world's  Father 
Must  grant  a  parent's  prayer  against  his  child, 
Be  he  who  asks  even  what  men  call  me. 
Will  not  the  deaths  of  her  rebellious  brothers 
Awe  her  before  I  speak  ? — for  I  on  them 
Pid  imprecate  quick  ruin,  and  it  came. 

Enter  Lucretia. 

Well?  what?  Speak,  wretch! 

Lucr.  She  said,  "I  cannot  come  ; 

Go  tell  my  father  that  I  see  a  torrent 
Of  his  own  blood  raging  between  us." 

Cen.     (kne-ling.)  God! 

Hear  me  !     If  this  most  specious  mass  of  flesh 
Which  thou  hast  made  my  daughter;  this  my  blood, 
This  particle  of  my  divided  being; 
Or  rather,  this  my  banc  and  my  disease, 
Whose  sight  infects  and  poisons  me;  this  devil, 
Which  sprung  from  me  as  from  a  hell,  was  meant 
To  aught  good  use  ;  if  her  bright  loveliness 
Was  kindled  to  illumine  this  dark  world; 
If,  nursed  by  thy  selectest  dew  of  love, 
Such  virtues  blossom  in  her  as  should  make 
The  peace  of  life,  I  pray  thee,  for  my  sake, 
As  thou  the  common  God  and  Father  art 


THE  CENCI.  33 

Of  her,  and  me,  and  all ;  reverse  that  doom ! 
Earth,  in  the  name  of  God,  let  her  food  be 
Poison,  until  she  be  encrusted  round 
With  leprous  stains!   Heaven,  rain  upon  her  head 
The  blistering  drops  of  the  Maremma's  dew, 
Till  she  be  speckled  like  a  toad  :  parch  up 
Those  love-enkindled  lips,  warp  those  fine  limbs 
To  loathed  lameness  !  All-beholding  sun, 
Strike  in  thy  envy  those  life-darting  eyes 
With  thine  own  blinding  beams  ! 

Lucr.  Peace  !  Peace  ! 

For  thine  own  sake  unsay  those  dreadful  words. 
When  high  God  grants,  he  punishes  such  prayers. 

Cen.    (leaping    up,  and    throwing   his  right  hand  towards 
Heaven.) 
He  does  his  will,  I  mine !     This  in  addition, 
That,  if  she  have  a  child — ■ 

Lucr.  Horrible  thought ! 

Cen.  That  if  she  ever  have  a  child  ;  and  thou, 
Quick  Nature  !   I  adjure  thee  by  thy  God, 
That  thou  be  fruitful  in  her,  and  increase 
And  multiply,  fullfiling  his  command, 
And  my  deep  imprecation  !  May  it  be 
A  hideous  likeness  of  herself;  that,  as 
From  a  distorting  mirror,  she  may  see 
Her  image  mixed  with  what  she  most  abhors, 
Smiling  upon  her  from  her  nursing  breast. 
And  that  the  child  may  from  its  infancy 
Grow,  day  by  day,  more  wicked  and  deformed, 
Turning  her  mother's  love  to  misery ; 
And  that  both  she  and  it  may  live,  until 
It  shall  repay  her  care  and  pain  with  hate, 
Or,  what  may  else  be  more  unnatural, 
So  he  may  hunt  her  through  the  clamorous  scoffs 
Of  the  loud  world  to  a  dishonoured  grave. 
Shall  I  revoke  this  curse?  Go,  bid  her  come, 
Before  my  words  are  chronicled  in  heaven.  (Exit  Lucr.) 

I  do  not  feel  as  if  I  were  a  man, 
But  like  a  fiend  appointed  to  chastise 
The  offences  of  some  unremernbered  world. 
My  blood  is  running  up  and  down  my  veins : 
A  fearful  pleasure  makes  it  prick  and  tingle : 
I  feel  a  giddy  sickness  of  strange  awe  ; 
My  heart  is  beating  with  an  expectation 
Of  horrid  joy. 

Enter  Lucretia. 

What?  Speak! 
Liter.  She  bids  thee  curse  : 

And  if  thy  curses,  as  they  cannot  do, 
4 


34  THE  CENCI. 

Could  kill  her  soul— 

Cen.  She  would  not  come.      Tis  well, 

I  can  do  both  :  first  take  what  I  demand, 
And  then  extort  concession.     To  thy  chamber, 
Fly,  ere  I  spurn  thee :  and  beware  this  night 
That  thou  cross  not  my  footsteps.     It  were  safer 
To  come  between  the  tiger  and  his  prey.  (Exit  Lucr.) 

It  must  be  late  ;  mine  eyes  grow  weary  dim 
With  unaccustomed  heaviness  of  sleep. 
Conscience  !  Oh,  thou  most  insolent  of  lies ! 
They  say  that  sleep,  that  healing  dew  of  heaven, 
Steeps  not  in  balm  the  foldings  of  the  brain 
Which  thinks  thee  an  impostor.     I  will  go, 
First  to  belie  thee  with  an  hour  of  rest, 
Which  will  be  deep  and  calm,  I  feel :   and  then — 
O,  multitudinous  Hell,  the  fiends  will  shake 
Thine  arches  with  the  laughter  of  their  joy ! 
There  shall  be  lamentation  heard  in  Heaven 
As  o'er  an  angel  fallen  ;  and  upon  Earth 
All  good  shall  droop  and  sicken,  and  ill  things 
Shall,  with  a  spirit  of  unnatural  life, 
Stir  and  be  quickened,  even  as  I  am  now.  *  (Exit.) 


Scene  II. 

Before  the  Castle  of  Petrella.     Enter  Beatrice  and  Lucretia 
above,  on  the  ramparts. 

Beatr.  They  com  e  not  yet. 

Lucr.  'Tis  scarce  midnight. 

Beatr.  How  slow 

Behind  the  course  of  thought,  even  sick  with  speed, 
Lags  leaden- footed  time  ! 

Lucr.  The  minutes  pass — 

If  he  should  wake  before  the  deed  is  done  ? 

Beatr.  O,  Mother !  he  must  never  wake  again. 
What  thou  hast  said  persuades  me  that  our  act 
Will  but  dislodge  a  spirit  of  deep  hell 
Out  of  a  human  iorm. 

Lucr.  'Tis  true,  he  spoke 

Of  death  and  judgment  with  strange  confidence 
For  one  so  wicked:  as  a  man  believing 
In  God,  yet  recking  not  of  good  or  ill. 
And  yet  to  die  without  confession  ! — ■ 

Beatr.  Oh! 

Believe  that  Heaven  is  merciful  and  just, 
And  will  not  add  our  dread  necessity 
To  the  amount  of  his  offences. 


THE  CENCI.  35 

Enter  Olim  no  and  Marzio,  below. 

Lvcr.  See, 

They  come. 

Beatr.         All  mortal  things  must  hasten  thus 
To  their  dark  end.     Let  us  go  down. 

(Exeunt  Lucretia  and  Beatrice  from  above.) 

Olim.   How  feel  you  to  this  work  ? 

Mar.  As  one  who  thinks 

A  thousand  crowns  excellent  market  price 
For  an  old  murderer's  life.     Your  cheeks  are  pale. 

Olim.  It  is  the  white  reflection  of  your  own, 
Which  you  call  pale. 

Mar.  Is  that  their  natural  hue  ? 

Olim.  Or  'tis  my  hate,  and  the  deferred  desire 
To  wreak  it,  which  extinguishes  their  blood. 

Mar.  You  are  inclined  then  to  this  business  ? 

Olim.  Ay, 

If  one  should  bribe  me  with  a  thousand  crowns 
To  kill  a  serpent  which  had  stung  my  child, 
I  could  not  be  more  willing. 

Enter  Beatrice  and  Lucretia  below. 

Noble  ladies  1 

Beatt .  Are  ye  resolved  ? 

Olim.  Is  he  asleep  ? 

Mar.  Is  all 

Quiet? 

Lucr.       I  mixed  an  opiate  with  his  drink: 
He  sleeps  so  soundly — 

Beatr.  That  his  death  will  be 

But  as  a  change  of  sin-chastising  dreams, 
A  dark  continuance  of  the  Hell  within  him, 
Which  God  extinguish !     But  are  ye  resolved  ? 
Ye  know  it  is  a  high  and  holy  deed. 

Olim.  We  are  resolved. 

Mar.  As  to  the  how  this  act 

Be  warranted,  it  rests  with  you. 

Beart.  Well,  follow ! 

Olim.  Hush  !  hark !     What  noise  is  that  ? 

Mar.  Ha!  some  one  comesl 

Beatr.  Ye  conscience-stricken  cravens,  rock  to  rest 
Your  baby  hearts.     It  is  the  iron  gate, 
Which  ye  left  open,  swinging  to  the  wind, 
That  enters  whistling  as  in  scorn.     Come,  follow ! 
And  be  your  steps  like  mine,  light,  quick,  and  bold. 

(Exeunt.) 


M  THE  CENCI. 

Scene   III. 
AnApartment  in  the  Castle.     Enter  Beatrice  and  Lucretia. 

Liter.  They  are  about  it  now. 

Beatr.  Nay,  it  is  done. 

Liter.  I  have  not  heard  him  groan. 

Beatr.  He  will  not  groan. 

Liter.  What  sound  is  that? 

Beatr.  List!  'tis  the  tread  of  feet 

About  his  bed. 

Liter.  My  God! 

If  he  be  now  a  cold  stiff  corpse ! 

Beatr.  Oh,  fear  not 

What  may  be  done,  but  what  is  left  undone  : 
The  act  seals  all. 

Enter  Olimpio  and  Marzio. 

Is  it  accomplished  ? 

Mar.  What? 

Olim.  Did  you  not  call  ? 

Beatr.  When  ? 

Olim.  Now. 

Beatr.  I  ask  if  all  is  over  ? 

Olim.  We  dare  not  kill  an  old  and  sleeping  man; 
His  thin  grey  hair,  his  stern  and  reverend  brow, 
His  veined  hands  crossed  on  his  heaving  breast, 
And  the  calm  innocent  sleep  in  which  he  lay, 
Quelled  me.     Indeed,  indeed,  I  cannot  do  it. 

Mar.  But  I  was  bolder ;  for  I  chid  Olimpio, 
And  bade  him  bear  his  wrongs  to  his  own  grave, 
And  leave  me  the  reward.     And  now  my  knife 
Touched  the  loose  wrinkled  throat,  when  the  old  man 
Stirred  in  his  sleep,  and  said,  "God  !  hear,  O  hear, 
A  father's  curse  !  What !  art  thou  not  our  father  ?" 
And  then  he  laughed.     I  knew  it  was  the  ghost 
Of  my  dead  father  speaking  through  his  lips, 
And  could  not  kill  him. 

Beatr.  Miserable  slaves ! 

Where,  if  ye  dare  not  kill  a  sleeping  man, 
Found  ye  the  boldness  to  return  to  me 
With  such  a  deed  undone  ?     Base  palterers ! 
Cowards  and  traitors !     Why,  the  very  conscience 
Which  ye  would  sell  for  gold  and  for  revenge 
Is  an  equivocation  :  it  sleeps  over 
A  thousand  daily  acts  disgracing  men  ; 

And  when  a  deed,  where  mercy  insults  Heaven 

Why  do  I  talk? 

(.Snatching  a  dagger  from  one  of  them,  and  raising  it.) 
lladst  thou  a  tongue  to  say, 


THE  CENCI.  37 

She  murdered  her  own  father,  I  must  do  it ! 
But  never  dream  ye  shall  outlive  him  long ! 

Olim.  Stop,  for  God's  sake ! 

Mar.  1  will  go  back  and  kill  him. 

Olim.  Give  me  the  weapon ;  we  must  do  thy  will. 

Beatr.  Take  it !— Depart !  Return! 

(Exeunt  Olimpio  and  Marzio.) 
How  pale  thou  art! 
We  do  but  that  which  'twere  a  deadly  crime 
To  leave  undone. 

Liter.  Would  it  were  done  ! 

Beatr.  Even  whilst 

That  doubt  is  passing  through  your  mind,  the  world 
Is  conscious  of  a  change.  Darkness  and  hell 
Have  swallowed  up  the  vapour  they  sent  forth 
To  blacken  the  sweet  light  of  life.  My  breath 
Comes,  methinks,  lighter,  and  the  gelid  blood 
Runs  freely  through  my  veins.     Hark  ! 

Enter  Oi.impio  and  Marzio. 

He  is 


Olim.     Dead ; 

Mar.  We  strangled  him,  that  there  might  be  no  blood ; 
And  then  we  threw  his  heavy  corpse  i'the  garden, 
Under  the  balcony;  'twill  seem  it  fell. 

Beatr.   (Giving  them  a  bag  of  coin.) 
Here,  take  this  gold,  and  hasten  to  your  homes. 
And,  Marzio,  because  thou  wast  only  awed 
By  that  which  made  me  tremble,  wear  thou  this ! 

(Clothes  him  in  a  rich  mantle.) 
It  was  the  mantle  which  my  grandfather 
Wore  in  his  high  prosperity,  and  men 
Envied  his  state  :  so  may  they  envy  thine. 
Thou  wert  a  weapon  in  the  hand  of  God 
To  a  just  use.     Live  long  and  thrive  !  and,  mark, 
If  thou  hast  crimes,  repent:    this  deed  is  none. 

(A  horn  is  sounded.) 

Lucr.  Hark !  'tis  the  castle  horn ;  my  God !  it  sounds 
Like  the  last  trump. 

Beatr.  Some  tedious  guest  is  coming. 

Lucr.  The  drawbridge  is  let  down  ;  there  is  a  tramp 
Of  horses  in  the  court ;  fly,  hide  yourselves  ! 

(Exeunt  Olimpio  and  Marzio.) 

Beatr.  Let  us  retire  to  counterfeit  deep  rest ; 
I  scarcely  need  to  counterfeit  it  now: 
The  spirit  which  doth  reign  within  these  limbs 
Seems  strangely  undisturbed.     I  could  even  sleep 
Fearless  and  calm  :  all  ill  is  surely  past.  (Exeunt.) 


38  THE  CENCI. 

Scene  IV. 

Another  Apartment  in  the  Castle.  Enter  on  one  side  the  Legate 
Savella,  introduced  by  a  Servant,  and  on  the  other  Lucretia 
and  Bernardo. 

Sav.  Lady,  my  duty  to  his  Holiness 
Be  my  excuse  that  thus  unseasonably 
I  break  upon  your  rest.     I  must  speak  with 
Count  Cenci ;  doth  he  sleep  ? 

Lucr.  (in  a  hurried  and  confused  manner.) 

I  think  he  sleeps ; 
Yet,  wake  him  not,  I  pray.     Spare  me  awhile, 
He  is  a  wicked  and  a  wrathful  man ; 
Should  he  be  roused  out  of  his  sleep  to-night, 
Which  is,  I  know,  a  hell  of  angry  dreams, 
It  were  not  well ;  indeed  it  were  not  well. 
Wait  till  day-break, — 
(aside.)  Oh,  I  am  deadly  sick  ! 

Sav.  I  grieve  thus  to  distress  you,  but  the  Count 
Must  answer  charges  of  the  gravest  import, 
And  suddenly  j  such  my  commission  is. 

Luc.  (with  increased  agitation.) 
I  dare  not  rouse  him  :   I  know  none  who  dare  : 
'Twere  perilous — you  might  as  safely  waken 
A  serpent,  or  a  corpse  in  which  some  fiend 
Were  laid  to  sleep. 

Sav.  Lady,  my  moments  here 

Are  counted.     I  must  rouse  him  from  his  sleep, 
Since  none  else  dare. 

Lucr.  (aside.)  O  terror !  O  despair  ! 

(To  Bernardo.)         Bernardo,  conduct  you  the  Lord  Legate  to 
Your  father's  chamber.         (Exeunt  Savella  and  Bernardo.) 

Enter  Beatrice. 

Beatr.  "lis  a  messenger 

Come  to  arrest  the  culprit  who  now  stands 
Before  the  throne  of  unappealable  God. 
Both  Earth  and  Heaven,  consenting  arbiters, 
Acquit  our  deed. 

Lucr.  O  agony  of  fear ! 

Would  that  he  yet  might  live  !      Even  now  I  heard 
The  Legate's  followers  whisper,  as  they  passed, 
They  had  a  warrant  for  his  instant  death. 
All  was  prepared  by  unforbidden  means, 
Which  we  must  pay  so  dearly,  having  done. 
Even  now  they  search  the  tower,  and  find  the  body  • 
Now  they  suspect  the  truth :  now  they  consult, 
Before  they  come  to  tax  us  with  the  fact ; 
O  horrible,  'tis  all  discovered! 


THE  CENCI.  39 

Bcatr.  Mother, 

What  is  done  wisely,  is  done  well.     Be  bold 
As  thou  art  just.     'Tis  like  a  truant  child 
To  fear  that  others  know  what  thou  hast  done, 
Even  from  thine  own  strong  consciousness,  and  thus 
Write  on  unsteady  eyes  and  altered  cheeks 
All  thou  wouldst  hide.     Be  faithful  to  thyself, 
And  fear  no  other  witness  but  thy  fear. 
For  if,  as  cannot  be,  some  circumstance 
Should  rise  in  accusation,  we  can  blind 
Suspicion  with  such  cheap  astonishment, 
Or  overbear  it  with  such  guiltless  pride, 
As  murderers  cannot  feign.     The  deed  is  done, 
And  what  may  follow  now  regards  not  me. 
I  am  as  universal  as  the  light; 
Free  as  the  earth-surrounding  air ;  as  firm 
As  the  world's  centre.     Consequence,  to  me, 
Is  as  the  wind  which  strikes  the  solid  rock, 
But  shakes  it  not.  (A  cry  within,  and  tumult.) 

Voices.  Murder !  murder  !  murder ! 

Enter  Bernardo  and  Savella. 

Sav.   (to  his  followers.) 
Go  search  the  castle  round  ;  sound  the  alarm  ; 
Look  to  the  gates,  that  none  escape. 

Beatr.  What  now  ? 

Ber.  I  know  not  what  to  say :  my  father's  dead  ! 

Beatr.  How  !    dead  1  he  only  sleeps :  you  mistake,  brother. 
His  sleep  is  very  calm,  very  like  death  ; 
'Tis  wonderful  how  well  a  tyrant  sleeps. 
He  is  not  dead  ! 

Ber.  Dead!  murdered! 

Lucr.  (ivith  extreme  agitation.)  Oh,  no,  no, 
He  is  not  murdered,  though  he  may  be  dead  ; 
I  have  alone  the  keys  of  those  apartments. 

Sav.  Ha !  Is  it  so  ? 

Beatr.  My  Lord,  1  pray  excuse  us ; 

We  will  retire  ;  my  mother  is  not  well : 
She  seems  quite  overcome  with  this  strange  horror. 

Exeunt  Lucretia  and  Beatrice. 

Sav.  Can  you  suspect  who  may  have  murdered  him  ? 

Ber.  I  know  not  what  to  think. 

Sav.  Can  you  name  any 

Who  had  an  interest  in  his  death  ? 

Ber.  Alas ! 

I  can  name  none  who  had  not,  and  those  most 
Who  most  lament  that  such  a  deed  is  done ; 
My  mother,  and  my  sister,  and  myself. 

Sav.  'Tis  strange !  There  were  clear  marks  of  violenee. 
I  found  the  old  man's  body  in  the  moonlight 


40  THE  CENCI. 

Hanging   beneath  the  window  of  his  chamber, 

Among  the  brandies  of  a  pine :  he  could  not 

Have  fallen  there,  for  all  his  limbs  lay  heaped 

And  effortless  :  'tis  true  there  was  no  blood. 

Favour  me,  Sir,  (it  much  imports  your  house 

That  all  should  be  made  clear)  to  tell  the  ladies 

That  I  request  their  presence.  (Exit  Ber.) 

Enter  Guards,  bringing  in  Marzio. 

Guard.  We  have  one. 

Officer.  My  lord,  we  found  this  ruffian  and  another 
Lurking  among  the  rocks  ;  there  is  no  doubt 
But  that  they  are  the  murderers  of  Count  Cenci : 
Each  had  a  bag  of  coin.     This  fellow  wore 
A  gold-inwoven  robe,  which,  shining  bright 
Under  the  dark  rocks  to  the  glimmering  moon, 
Betrayed  them  to  our  notice  :  the  other  fell 
Desperately  fighting. 

Sav.  What  does  he  confess  ? 

Officer.  He  keeps  firm  silence  ;  but  these  lines  found  on  him 
May  speak. 

Sav.  Their  language  is  at  least  sincere.  (reads.) 

"  To  the  Lady  Beatrice. 
"That  the  atonement  of  what  my  nature  sickens  to  conjec- 
ture may  soon  arrive,   I  send  thee,  at  thy  brother's  desire, 
those  who  will  speak  and  do  more  than  I  dare  write  — 

Thy  devoted  servant, 

OllSINO." 

Enter  Lucretia,  Beatrice,  and  Bernardo. 

Knowest  thou  this  writing,  Lady  ? 

Beatr.  No. 

Sav.  Nor  thou  ? 

Luc?:  (Her  conduct  throughout  the  scene  is  marked  by  extreme 
agitation.) 
Where  was  it  found  ?  what  is  it  ?   It  should  be 
Qrsino's  hand  !   It  speaks  of  that  strange  horror 
Which  never  yet  found  utterance,  but  which  made 
Between  that  hapless  child  and  her  dead  father 
A  gulph  of  obscure  hatred. 

Sao.  Is  it  so  ? 

Is  it  true,  Lady,  that  thy  father  did 
Such  outrages  as  to  awaken  in  thee 
Unfilial  hate  ? 

Beatr.  Not  hate,  'twas  more  than  hate  : 

This  is  most  true,  yet  wherefore  question  me? 

Sav.  There  is  a  deed  demanding  question  done ; 
Thou  hast  a  secret  which  will  answer  not. 


THE  CENCI.  41 

Beatr.  What  sayest?  My  Lord,  your  words  are  bold  and  rash. 

Sav.   I  do  arrest  all  present  in  the  name 
Of  the  Pope's  Holiness.     You  must  to  Rome. 

Liter.  Oh,  not  to  Rome!   Indeed  we  are  not  guilty. 

Beatr.  Guilty!  Who  dares  talk  of  guilt  ?   My  Lord, 
I  am  more  innocent  of  parricide 
Than  is  a  child  born  fatherless.     Dear  mother, 
Your  gentleness  and  patience  are  no  shield 
For  this  keen-judging  world,  this  two-edged  lie, 
Which  seems,  but  is  not.     What !  will  human  laws, 
Rather  will  ye  who  are  their  ministers, 
Bar  all  access  to  retribution  first, 
And  then,  when  heaven  doth  interpose  to  do 
What  ye  neglect,  arming  familiar  things 
To  the  redress  of  an  unwonted  crime, 
Make  ye  the  victims  who  demanded  it 
Culprits  1     'Tis  ye  are  culprits  !  That  poor  wretch, 
Who  stands  so  pale,  and  trembling,  and  amazed, 
If  it  be  true  he  murdered  Cenci,  was 
A  sword  in  the  right  hand  of  justest  God. 
Wherefore  should  I  have  wielded  it  ?   Unless 
The  crimes  which  mortal  tongue  dare  never  name, 
God  therefore  scruples  to  avenge. 

Sav.  You  own 

That  you  desired  his  death  ? 

Beatr.  It  would  have  been 

A  crime  no  less  than  his,  if,  for  one  moment, 
That  fierce  desire  had  faded  in  my  heart. 
'Tis  true  I  did  believe,  and  hope,  and  pray, 
Ay,  I  even  knew — for  God  is  wise  and  just — 
That  some  strange  sudden  death  hung  over  him. 
'Tis  true  that  this  did  happen,  and  most  true 
There  was  no  other  rest  for  me  on  earth, 
No  other  hope  in  Heaven  :  now  what  of  this  ?  [both. 

Sav.    Strange  thoughts  beget  strange  deeds;  and  here  are 
I  judge  thee  not. 

Beatr.  And  yet,  if  you  arrest  me, 

You  are  the  judge  and  executioner 
Of  that  which  is  the  life  of  life  :  the  breath 
Of  accusation  kills  an  innocent  name, 
And  leaves  for  lame  acquittal  the  poor  life, 
Which  is  a  mask  without  it.     'Tis  most  false 
That  I  am  guilty  of  foul  parricide  ; 
Although  1  must  rejoice,  for  justest  cause, 
That  other  hands  have  sent  my  father's  soul 
To  ask  the  mercy  he  denied  to  me. 
Now  leave  us  free  :  stain  not  a  noble  house 
With  vague  surmises  of  rejected  crime  ; 
Add  to  our  sufferings  and  your  own  neglect 
No  heavier  sum  ;  let  them  have  been  enough. 


42  THE  CENCI. 

Leave  us  the  wreck  we  have. 

Sav.  I  dare  not,  Lady. 

I  pray  that  you  prepare  yourselves  for  Rome  : 
There  the  Pope's  further  pleasure  will  be  known. 

Lucy.  Oh,  not  to  Rome !     Oh,  take  us  not  to  Rome ! 

Bealr.  Why  not  to  Rome,  dear  mother  1  There,  as  here, 
Our  innocence  is  an  armed  heel 
To  trample  accusation.     God  is  there, 
As  here,  and  with  his  shadow  ever  clothes 
The  innocent,  the  injured,  and  the  weak; 
And  such  are  we.     Cheer  up,  dear  Lady!  lean 
On  me  ;  collect  your  wandering  thoughts.     My  Lord, 
As  soon  as  you  have  taken  some  refreshment, 
And  have  ail  such  examination  made 
Upon  the  spot  as  may  be  necessary 
To  the  full  understanding  of  this  matter, 
We  shall  be  ready.     Mother,  will  you  come  ? 

Lucr.  Ha!  they  will  bind  us  to  the  rack,  and  wrest 
Self-accusation  from  our  agony  ! 
Will  Giacomo  be  there?  Orsino  ?  Marzio? 
All  present  ?  all  confronted  ?  all  demanding 
Each  from  the  other's  countenance  the  thing 
Which  is  in  every  heart  1     O,  misery  ! 

(She  faints,  and  is  borne  out.) 

Sav.  She  faints :  an  ill  appearance  this. 

Beatr.  My  Lord, 

She  knows  not  yet  the  uses  of  the  world. 
She  fears  that  power  is  as  a  beast  which  grasps 
And  loosens  not :  a  snake  whose  look  transmutes 
All  things  to  guilt,  which  is  its  nutriment. 
She  cannot  know  how  well  the  supine  slaves 
Of  blind  authority  read  the  truth  of  things 
When  written  on  a  brow  of  guilelessness: 
She  sees  not  yet  triumphant  Innocence 
Stand  at  the  judgment-seat  of  mortal  man, 
A  judge  and  an  accuser  of  the  wrong 
Which  drags  it  there.     Prepare  yourself,  my  Lord  ; 
Our  suite  will  join  yours  in  the  court  below.  (Exeunt.) 


ACT  V.     Scene  I. 

An  Apartment  in  Orsino's  Palace.     Enter  Orsino  and 
Giacomo. 

Giac.  Do  evil  deeds  thus  quickly  come  to  end  ? 
Oh,  that  the  vain  remorse  which  must  chastise 
Crimes  done,  had  but  as  loud  a  voice  to  warn, 
As  its  keen  sting  is  mortal  to  avenge ! 
Oh,  that  the  hour  when  present  had  cast  off 
The  mantle  of  its  mystery,  and  shewn 


THE  CENCI. 

The  ghastly  form  with  which  it  now  returns 

When  its  sacred  game  is  roused,  cheering  the  hounds 

Of  conscience  to  their  prey  !     Alas  !  alas ! 

It  was  a  wicked  thought,  a  piteous  deed, 

To  kill  an  old  and  hoary-headed  father. 

Ors.  It  has  turned  out  unluckily  in  truth. 

Giac.  To  violate  the  sacred  doors  of  sleep  ; 
To  cheat  kind  Nature  of  the  placid  death 
Which  she  prepares  for  over-wearied  age  ; 
To  drag  from  Heaven  an  unrepentant  soul, 
Which  might  have  quenched  in  rconciling  prayers 
A  life  of  burning  crimes — 

Ors.  You  cannot  say 

I  urged  you  to  the  deed. 

Giac.  Oh,  had  I  never 

Found  in  thy  smooth  and  ready  countenance 
The  mirror  of  my  darkest  thoughts  ;  hadst  thou 
Never  with  hints  and  questions  made  me  look 
Upon  the  monster  of  my  thoughts,  until 
It  grew  familiar  to  desire — 

Ors.  'Tis  thus 

Men  cast  the  blame  of  their  unprosperous  acts 
Upon  the  abettors  of  their  own  resolve  : 
Or  any  thing  but  their  weak  guilty  selves. 
And  yet,  confess  the  truth,  it  is  the  peril 
In  which  you  stand  that  gives  you  this  pale  sicknesg 
Of  penitence  ;  confess  'tis  fear  disguised 
From  its  own  shame  that  takis  the  mantle  now 
Of  thin  remorse.     What  if  we  yet  were  safe  ? 

Giac.  How  can  that  be  ?     Already  Beatrice, 
Lucretia,  and  the  murderer,  are  in  prison. 
I  doubt  not  officers  are,  whilst  we  speak, 
Sent  to  arrest  us. 

Ors.  I  have  all  prepared 

For  instant  flight.     We  can  escape  even  now, 
So  we  take  fleet  occasion  by  the  hair. 

Giac.  Rather  expire  in  tortures,  as  I  may. 
What !  will  you  cast  by  self-accusing  flight 
Assured  conviction  upon  Beatrice  ? 
She  who  alone,  in  this  unnatural  work, 
Stands  like  God's  angel  ministered  upon 
By  fiends  ;  avenging  such  a  nameless  wrong 
As  turns  black  parricide  to  piety ; 

Whilst  we  for  basest  ends 1  fear,  Orsino 

While  I  consider  all  your  words  and  looks, 
Comparing  them  with  your  proposal  now, 
That  you  must  be  a  villain.     For  what  end 
Could  you  engage  in  such  a  perilous  crime, 
Training  me  on  with  hints,  and  signs,  and  smiles, 
Even  to  this  gulph  1     Thou  art  no  liar  ?     No, 


44  THE  CENCI. 

Thou  art  a  lie  !     Traitor  and  murderer ! 

Coward  and  slave  !     But,,  no,  defend  thyself;  (Drawing.) 

Let  the  sword  speak  what  the  indignant  tongue 

Disdains  to  brand  thee  with. 

Ors.  Put  up  your  weapon. 

Is  it  the  desperation  of  your  fear 
Makes  you  thus  rash  and  sudden  with  your  friend, 
Now  ruined  for  your  sake  ?   If  honest  anger 
Have  moved  you,  know  that  what  I  just  proposed 
Was  but  to  try  you.     As  for  me,  I  think 
Thankless  affection  led  me  to  this  point, 
From  which,  if  my  firm  temper  could  repent, 
1  cannot  now  recede.     Even  whilst  we  speak, 
The  ministers  of  justice  wait  below: 
They  grant  me  these  brief  moments.     Now,  if  you 
Have  any  word  of  melancholy  comfort 
To  speak  to  your  pale  wife,  'twere  best  to  pass 
Out  at  the  postern,  and  avoid  them  so. 

Giac.  O  generous  friend  !  how  canst  thou  pardon  me  ? 
Would  that  my  life  could  purchase  thine! 

Ors.  That  wish 

Now  comes  a  day  too  late.     Haste  :  fare  thee  well ! 
Hear'st  thou  not  steps  along  the  corridor  ?        (Exit  Giacomo.) 
I'm  sorry  for  it;  but  the  guards  are  waiting 
At  his  own  gate,  and  such  was  my  contrivance 
That  I  might  rid  me  both  of  him  and  them. 
I  thought  to  act  a  solemn  comedy 
Upon  the  painted  scene  of  this  new  world, 
And  to  attain  my  own  peculiar  ends 
By  some  such  plot  of  mingled  good  and  ill 
As  others  weave ;  but  there  arose  a  Power 
Which  grasp'd  andsnapp'd  the  threads  of  my  device, 
And  turned  it  to  a  net  of  ruin — Ha  !  (A  shout  is  heard.) 

Is  that  my  name  I  hear  proclaimed  abroad  ? 
But  I  will  pass,  wrapt  in  a  vile  disguise  ; 
Rags  on  my  back,  and  a  false  innocence 
Upon  my  face,  through  the  misdeeming  crowd 
Which  judges  by  what  seems.     'Tis  easy  then 
For  a  new  name,  and  for  a  country  new, 
And  a  new  life,  fashioned  on  old  desires, 
To  change  the  honours  of  abandoned  Rome. 
And  these  must  be  the  masks  of  that  within, 
Which  must  remain  unaltered.     Oh,  I  fear 
That  what  is  past  will  never  let  me  rest ! 
Why,  when  none  else  is  conscious  but  myself 
Of  my  misdeeds,  should  my  own  heart's  contempt 
Trouble  me  ?   Have  I  not  the  power  to  fly 
My  own  reproaches  ?   Shall  I  be  the  slave 
Of— what  ?  A  word  ?  which  those  of  this  false  world 
Employ  against  each  other,  not  themselves ; 


THE  CENCI.  45 

As  men  wear  daggers  not  for  self-offence. 

But  if  I  am  mistaken,  where  shall  I 

Find  the  disguise  to  hide  from  myself, 

As  now  1  skulk  from  every  other  eye  ?  (Exit.) 


Scene  II. 

A  Hall  of  Justice.     Camillo,  Judges,  8[C.  are  discovered 

seated.    Marzio  is  led  in. 

1st  Judge.  Accused,  do  you  persist  in  your  denial  ? 
I  ask  you,  are  you  innocent  or  guilty  ? 
I  demand  who  were  the  participators 
In  your  offence  ?  Speak  truth,  and  the  whole  truth. 

Mar.  My  God!   I  did  not  kill  him  ;    I  know  nothing; 
Olimpio  sold  the  robe  to  me  from  which 
You  would  infer  my  guilt. 

2nd  Judge.  Away  with  him  !  '  [kiss, 

lsl  Judge.    Dare  you,  with  lips  yet  white  from    the  rack's 
Speak  false  ?  Is  it  so  soft  a  questioner, 
That  you  would  bandy  lovers'  talk  with  it, 
Till  it  wind  out  your  life  and  soul  ?  Away ! 

Mar.  Spare  me  !  O  spare !  I  will  confess. 

1st  Judge.  Then  speak. 

Mar.  I  strangled  him  in  his  sleep. 

1st  Judge.  Who  urged  you  to  it? 

Mar.  His  own  son  Giacomo,  and  the  young  prelate 
Orsino  sent  me  to  Petrella ;  there 
The  ladies  Beatrice  and  Lucretia 
Tempted  me  with  a  thousand  crowns,  and  I 
And  my  companion  forthwith  murdered  him. 
Now  let  me  die. 

1st  Judge.  This  sounds  as  bad  as  truth.     Guards,  there, 
Lead  forth  the  prisoners. 

Enter  Lucretia,  Beatrice,  and  Giacomo,  guarded. 

Look  upon  this  man  ; 
When  did  you  see  him  last? 

Beatr.  We  never  saw  him. 

Mar.  You  know  me  too  well,  Lady  Beatrice. 

Beatr.  I  know  thee  !     How  ?  where  ?  when  ? 

Mar.  You  know  'twas  I 
Whom  you  did  urge  with  menaces  and  bribes 
To  kill  your  father.     When  the  thing  was  done 
You  clothed  me  in  a  robe  of  woven  gold, 
And  bade  rne  thrive  :  how  I  have  thriven,  you  see. 
You,  my  Lord  Giacomo,  Lady  Lucretia, 
You  know  that  what  I  speak  is  true. 


46  THE  CENCI. 

(Beatrice  advances  towards  him  ;  he  covers  his  face,  and 
shrinks  back.) 
Oh,  dart 
The  terrible  resentment  of  those  eyes 
On  the  dread  earth  !     Turn  them  away  from  me ! 
They  wound  :  'twas  torture  forced  the  truth.     My  Lords, 
Having  said  this,  let  me  be  led  to  death, 

Beatr.  Poor  wretch!    I  pity  thee:  yet  stay  awhile. 

Cum.  Guards,  lead  him  not  away. 

Beatr.  Cardinal  Camillo, 
You  have  a  good  repute  for  gentleness 
And  wisdom :  can  it  be  that  you  sit  here 
To  countenance  a  wicked  farce  like  this  ? 
When  some  obscure  and  trembling  slave  is  dragged 
From  sufferings  which  might  shake  the  sternest  heart, 
And  bade  to  answer,  not  as  he  believes, 
But  as  those  may  suspect,  or  do  desire, 
Whose  questions  thence  suggest  their  own  reply: 
And  that  in  peril  of  such  hideous  torments 
As  merciful  God  spares  even  the  damned.     Speak  now 
The  thing  you  surely  know,  which  is,  that  you, 
If  your  fine  frame  were  stretched  upon  that  wheel, 
And  you  were  told,  "  Confess  that  you  did  poison 
Your  little  nephew;  that  fair  blue-eyed  child, 
Who  was  the  load-star  of  your  life  :" — and  though 
All  see,  since  his  most  swift  and  piteous  death, 
That  day  and  night,  and  heaven  and  earth,  and  time, 
And  all  the  things  hoped  for  or  done  therein 
Are  changed  to  you,  through  your  exceeding  grief, 
Yet  you  would  say,  "  I  confess  any  thing :" 
And  beg  from  your  tormentors,  like  that  slave, 
The  refuge  of  dishonourable  death. 
I  pray  thee,  Cardinal,  that  thou  assert 
My  innocence. 

Cam.   (much  moved.)  What  shall  we  think,  my  Lords? 
Shame  on  these  tears  !      I  thought  the  heart  was  frozen 
Which  is  their  fountain.     I  would  pledge  my  soul 
That  she  is  guiltless. 

Judge.  Yet  she  must  be  tortured. 

Cam.  I  would  as  soon  have  tortured  mine  own  nephew 
(If  he  now  lived  he  would  be  just  her  age  ; 
His  hair,  too,  was  her  colour,  and  his  eyes 
Like  hers  in  shape,  but  blue,  and  not  so  deep) 
As  that  most  perfect  image  of  God's  love 
That  ever  came  sorrowing  upon  the  earth. 
She  is  as  pure  as  speechless  infancy  ! 

Judge.  Well,  be  her  purity  on  your  head,  my  Lord, 
If  you  forbid  the  rack.     His  Holiness 
Enjoined  us  to  pursue  this  monstrous  crime 
By  the  severest  forms  of  law;  nay,  even 


THE  CENCI.  47 

To  stretch  a  point  against  the  criminals. 

The  prisoners  stand  accused  of  parricide, 

Upon  such  evidence  as  justifies 

Torture. 

Beatr.  What  evidence  ?     This  man's  ? 

Judge.  Even  so.    [chosen  forth, 

Beatr.  (to  Marzio.)    Come  near.      And  who  art  thou,  thus 

Out  of  the  multitude  of  living  men, 

To  kill  the  innocent? 

Mar.  I  am  Marzio, 

Thy  father's  vassal. 

Beatr.  Fix  thine  eyes  on  mine ; 

Answer  to  what  I  ask. 

{Turning  to  the  Judges.)        I  prithee  mark 

His  countenance :  unlike  hold  calumny, 

Which  sometimes  dares  not  speak  the  thing  it  looks, 

He  dares  not  look  the  thing  he  speaks,  but  bends 

His  gaze  on  the  blind  earth. 

{To  Marzio.)  What !  wilt  thou  say 

That  I  did  murder  my  own  father? 

Mar.  Oh ! 

Spare  me  !     My  brain  swims  round — I  cannot  speak — 

It  was  that  horrid  torture  forced  the  truth. 
Take  me  away !     Let  her  not  look  on  me  ! 
I  am  a  guilty,  miserable  wretch  ; 
I  have  said  all  I  know ;  now  let  me  die ! 

Beatr.  My  Lords,  if  by  my  nature  I  had  been 
So  stern  as  to  have  planned  the  crime  alleged, 
Which  your  suspicions  dictate  to  this  slave, 
And  the  rack  makes  him  utter,  do  you  think 
1  should  have  left  this  two-edged  instrument 
Of  my  misdeed  ;  this  man,  this  bloody  knife, 
With  my  own  name  engraven  on  the  heft, 
Lying  unsheathed  amid  a  world  of  foes, 
For  my  own  death  ?     That,  with  such  horrible  need 
For  deepest  silence,  I  should  have  neglected 
So  trivial  a  precaution,  as  the  making 
His  tomb  the  keeper  of  a  secret  written 
On  a  thief  s  memory  ?     What  is  his  poor  life  ? 
What  are  a  thousand  lives  ?      A  parricide 
Had  trampled  them  like  dust ;  and  see,  he  lives ! 
{Turning  to  Marzio.)     And  thou— 

Mar.  Oh,  spare  me  !     Speak  to  me  no  more  ! 
That  stern  yet  piteous  look,  those  solemn  tones, 
Wound  worse  than  torture. 
{To  the  Judges.)  I  have  told  it  all ; 

For  pity's  sake  lead  me  away  to  death. 

Cam.  Guards,  lead  him  nearer  the  Lady  Beatrice. 
He  shrinks  from  her  regard  like  autumn's  leaf 
From  the  keen  breath  of  the  serenestr  north. 


48  THE  CENCI. 

Beatr.  O  thou,  who  tremblest  on  the  giddy  verge 
Of  life  and  death,  pause  ere  thou  answerest  me; 
So  mayest  thou  answer  God  with  less  dismay  : 
What  evil  have  we  done  thee  ?   I,  alas  ! 
Have  lived  but  on  this  earth  a  few  sad  years, 
And  so  my  lot  was  ordered,  that  a  father 
First  turned  the  moments  of  awakening  life 
To  drops,  each  poisoning  youth's  sweet  hope ;  and  then 
Stabbed  with  one  blow  my  everlasting  soul 
And  my  untainted  fame,  and  even  that  peace 
Which  sleeps  within  the  core  of  the  heart's  heart. 
But  the  wound  was  not  mortal :  so  my  hate 
Became  the  only  worship  I  could  lift 
To  our  great  Father,  who  in  pity  and  love 
Armed  thee,  as  thou  dost  say,  to  cut  him  off; 
And  thus  his  wrong  becomes  my  accusation : 
A  nd  art  thou  the  accuser  ?     If  thou  hopest 
Mercy  in  heaven,  shew  justice  upon  earth: 
Worse  than  a  bloody  hand  is  a  hard  heart. 
If  thou  hast  done  murders,  made  thy  life's  path 
Over  the  trampled  laws  of  God  and  man, 
Rush  not  before  thy  Judge,  and  say,  "  My  Maker, 
I  have  done  this  and  more ;  for  there  was  one 
Who  was  most  pure  and  innocent  on  earth  ; 
And  because  she  endured  what  never  any, 
Guilty  or  innocent,  endured  before  ; 
Because  her  wrongs  could  not  be  told,  nor  thought ; 
Because  thy  hand  at  length  did  rescue  her ; 
I  with  my  words  killed  her  and  all  her  kin." 
Think,  I  adjure  you,  what  it  is  to  slay 
The  reverence  living  in  the  minds  of  men 
Towards  our  ancient  house  and  stainless  fame  ! 
Think  what  it  is  to  strangle  infant  pity, 
Cradled  in  the  belief  of  guileless  looks. 
Till  it  become  a  crime  to  suffer.     Think 
What  'tis  to  blot  with  infamy  and  blood 
All  that  which  shews  like  innocence,  and  is, — 
Hear  me,  Great  God !   I  swear,  most  innocent, — 
So  that  the  world  lose  all  discrimination 
Between  the  sly,  fierce,  wild  regard  of  guilt, 
And  that  which  now  compels  thee  to  reply 
To  what  I  ask.     Am  I,  or  am  I  not, 
A  parricide  ? 

Mar.  Thou  art  not ! 

Judge.  What  is  this  ? 

Mar.  I  here  declare  those  whom  I  did  accuse 
Are  innocent.     'Tis  I  alone  am  guilty. 

Judge.  Drag  him  away  to  torments:  let  them  be 
Subtle  and  long  drawn  out,  to  tear  the  folds 
Of  the  heart's  inmost  cell.     Unbind  him  not 


THE  CENCI.  49 

Till  he  confess. 

Mar.  Torture  me  as  ye  will : 

A  keener  pang  has  wrung;  a  higher  truth 
From  my  last  breath.     She  is  most  innocent ! 
Bloodhounds,  not  men,  glu:  yourselves  well  with  me  1 
I  will  not  give  you  that  line  piece  of  nature 
To  rend  and  ruin.  {Exit  Marzio,  guarded.) 

Cam.  What  say  ye  now,  my  Lords  ? 

Judge.  Let  tortures  strain  the  truth  till  it  be  white 
As  snow  thrice  sifted  by  the  frozen  wind. 

Cam.  Yet  stained  with  blood. 

Judge,  (to  Beatrice.)  Know  you  this  paper,  Lady? 

Beatr.  Entrap  me  not  with  questions;     Who  stands  here 
As  my  accuser  ?     Ha !  wilt  thou  be  he, 
Who  art  my  judge  ?     Accuser,  witness,  judge, 
What,  all  in  one  ?     Here  is  Orsino's  name. 
Where  is  Orsino  1     Let  his  eye  meet  mine. 
What  means  this  scrawl  ?     Alas !  ye  know  not  what, 
And  therefore  on  the  chance  that  it  may  be 
Some  evil,  will  ye  kill  us  ? 

Enter  an  Officer. 

Officer.  Marzio's  dead. 

Judge.  What  did  he  say  1 

Officer.  Nothing.     As  soon  as  we 

Had  bound  him  on  the  wheel,  he  smiled  on  us, 
As  one  who  baffles  a  deep  adversary; 
And,  holding  his  breath,  died. 

Judge.  There  remains  nothing 

But  to  apply  the  question  to  those  prisoners 
Who  yet  remain  stubborn. 

Cam.  I  overrule 

Further  proceedings,  and  in  the  behalf 
Of  these  most  innocent  and  noble  persons 
Will  use  my  interest  with  the  Holy  Father. 

Judge.  Let  the  Pope's  pleasure  then  be  done     Meanwhile 
Conduct  these  culprits  each  to  separate  cells  ; 
And  be  the  engines  ready :  for  this  night, 
If  the  Pope's  resolution  be  as  grave, 
Pious,  and  just,  as  once,  I'll  wring  the  truth 
Out  of  those  nerves  and  sinews,  groan  by  groan.         (Exeunt.) 


Scene  III. 

The  Cell  of  a  Prison.     Beatrice  is  discovered  asleep 

on  a  Couch.     Enter  Bernardo. 

Ber.  How  gently  slumber  rests  upon  her  face, 
Like  the  last  thoughts  of  some  day  sweetly  spent, 
Closing  in  night  and  dreams,  and  so  prolonged. 


50  THE  CENCI. 

After  such  torments  as  she  bore  last  night, 

How  light  and  soft  her  breathing  comes.     Ah,  me ! 

Methinks  that  I  shall  never  sleep  again. 

But  I  must  shake  the  heavenly  dew  of  rest 

From  this  sweet  folded  flower,  thus — wake  !  awake  ! 

What,  sister,  canst  thou  sleep  ? 

Beatr.  (awaking.)  I  was  just  dreaming 

That  we  were  all  in  Paradise.     Thou  knowest 
This  cell  seems  like  a  kind  of  Paradise, 
After  our  father's  presence. 

Ber.  Dear,  dear  sister, 

Would  that  thy  dream  were  not  a  dream !     O  God ! 
How  shall  I  tell  ? 

Beatr.  What  wouldst  thou  tell,  sweet  brother  1 

Ber.  Look  not  so  calm  and  happy,  or,  even  whilst 
I  stand  considering  what  I  have  to  say, 
My  heart  will  break. 

Beatr.  See  now,  thou  makest  me  weep : 

How  very  friendless  thou  wouldst  be,  dear  child, 
It'  I  were  dead.     Say  what  thou  hast  to  say. 

Ber.  They  have  confessed :  they  could  endure  no  more 
The  tortures — 

Beatr.  Ha!     What  was  there  to  confess? 

They  must  have  told  some  weak  and  wicked  lie, 
To  flatter  their  tormentors.     Have  they  said 
lhat  they  were  guilty  ?     O  white  innocence, 
That  thou  shouldst  wear  the  mask  of  guilt  to  hide 
Thine  awful  and  serenest  countenance 
From  those  who  know  thee  not ! 

Enter  Judge,  with  Lucretia  and  Giacomo,  guarded. 

Ignoble  hearts ! 
For  some  brief  spasms  of  pain,  which  are  at  least 
As  mortal  as  the  limbs  through  which  they  pass, 
Are  centuries  of  high  splendour  laid  in  dust, 
And  that  eternal  honour  which  should  live, 
Sun-like,  above  the  wreck  of  mortal  fame, 
Changed  to  a  mockery  and  a  bye-word  ?     What, 
Will  you  give  up  these  bodies  to  be  dragged 
At  horses'  heels,  so  that  our  hair  )-hould  sweep 
The  footsteps  of  the  vain  and  senseless  crowd, 
Mho,  that  they  may  make  our  calamity 
Their  worship  and  their  spectacle,  will  leave 
The  churches  and  the  theatres  as  void 
As  their  own  hearts  1     Shall  the  light  multitude 
Fling,  at  their  choice,  curses  or  faded  pity, 
Sad  funeral  flow'rs  to  deck  a  living  corpse, 
Upon  us  as  we  pass,  to  pass  away, 
And  leave — what  memory  of  our  having  been? 
Infamy,  blood,  terror,  despair  ?     O  thou, 


THE  CENCI.  51 

Who  wert  a  mother  to  the  parentless, 
Kill  not  thy  child  !     Let  not  her  wrongs  kill  thee ! 
Brother,  lie  down  with  me  upon  the  rack, 
And  let  us  each  he  silent  as  a  corpse; 
It  soon  will  be  as  soft  as  any  grave. 
'Tis  but  the  falsehood  it  can  wring  from  fear, 
Makes  the  rack  cruel. 

Giac.  They  will  tear  the  truth 

Even  from  thee  at  last,  those  cruel  pains : 
For  pity's  sake,  say  thou  art  guilty  now. 

Lucr.  Oh,  speak  the  truth  !     Let  us  all  quickly  die  ; 
And  after  death,  God  is  our  judge,  not  they  ; 
He  will  have  mercy  on  us. 

Ber.  If  indeed 

It  can  be  true,  say  so,  clear  sister  mine  ; 
And  then  the  Pope  will  surely  pardon  you, 
And  all  be  well. 

Judge.  Confess,  or  I  will  warp 

Your  limbs  with  such  keen  tortures — 

Beatr.  Tortures!     Turn 

The  rack  henceforth  into  a  spinning-wheel! 
Torture  your  dog,  that  he  may  tell  when  last 
He  lapped  the  blood  his  master  shed — not  me! 
My  pangs  are  of  my  mind,  and  of  the  heart, 
And  of  the  soul ;  ay,  of  the  inmost  soul, 
Which  weeps  within  tears  as  of  burning  gall, 
To  see,  in  this  ill  world,  where  none  are  true, 
My  kindred  false  to  their  deserted  selves  ; 
And  with  considering  all  the  wretched  life 
Which  I  have  lived,  and  its  now  wretched  end, 
And  the  small  justice  shewn  by  Heaven  and  Earth 
To  me  or  mine  ;  and  what  a  tyrant  thou  art, 
And  what  slaves  these  ;  and  what  a  world  we  make ; 
The  oppressor  and  the  oppressed — such  pangs  compel 
My  answer.     What  is  it  thou  wouldst  with  me  ? 

Judge.  Art  thou  not  guilty  of  thy  father's  death  ? 

Beatr.  Or  wilt  thou  rather  tax  high-judging  God, 
That  he  permitted  such  an  act  as  that 
Which  I  have  suffered,  and  which  he  beheld  ; 
Made  it  unutterable,  and  took  from  it 
All  refuge,  all  revenge,  all  consequence, 
But  that  which  thou  hast  called  my  father's  death  ? 
Which  is  or  is  not  what  men  call  a  crime, 
Which  either  I  have  done,  or  have  not  done; 
Say  what  ye  will.      I  shall  deny  no  more. 
If  ye  desire  it  thus,  thus  let  it  be, 
And  so  an  end  of  all.     Now  do  your  will ; 
No  other  pains  shall  force  another  word. 

Judge.  She  is  convicted,  but  has  not  confessed. 
Be  it  enough.     Until  their  final  sentence, 


52  THE  CENd. 

Let  none  have  converse  wiih  them.     You,  young  Lord, 
Linger  not  here ! 

Beatr.  Oh,  tear  him  not  away! 

Judge.   Guards,  do  your  duty. 

Ber.  {Embracing  Beatrice.)   Oh  !  would  ye  divide 
Body  from  soul  ? 

Officer.  That  is  the  headsman's  business. 

{Exeunt  all  but  Lucretia,  Beatrice,  and  GiacomoJ) 

Giac.   Have  I  confessed  ?      Is  it  all  over  now  ? 
No  hope  !     No  refuge  !     O  weak,  wicked  tongue, 
Which  hast  destroyed  me,  would  that  thou  hadst  been 
Cut  out  and  thrown  to  dogs  first.     To  have  killed 
My  father  first,  and  then  betrayed  my  sister; 
Ay,  thee  !  the  one  thing  innocent  and  pure 
In  this  black,  guilty  world,  to  that  which  I 
So  well  deserve!     My  wife  !  my  little  ones! 
Destitute,  helpless;    and  I — Father!  God! 
Canst  thou  forgive  even  the  unforgiving, 
When  their  full  hearts  break  thus,  thus  ? 

Liter.   {Covers  her  face,  and  weeps.)  O  my  child  I 

To  what  a  dreadful  end  are  we  all  come  ! 
Why  did  I  yield  ?     Why  did  I  not  sustain 
Those  torments  ?     Oh,  that  I  were  all  dissolved 
Into  these  fast  and  unavailing  tears, 
Which  flow  and  feel  not ! 

Beatr.  What  'twas  weak  to  do, 

'  Tis  weaker  to  lament,  once  being  done  ; 
Take  cheer!     The  God  who  knew  my  wrong,  and  made 
Our  speedy  act  the  angel  of  his  wrath, 
Seems,  and  but  seems,  to  have  abandoned  us. 
Let  us  not  think  that  we  shall  die  for  this. 
Brother,  sit  near  me ;  give  me  your  firm  hand, 
You  had  a  manly  heart.     Bear  up  !  bear  up  ! 
O  dearest  Lady,  put  your  gentle  head 
Upon  my  lap,  and  try  to  sleep  awhile : 
Your  eyes  look  pale,  hollow,  and  overworn, 
With  heaviness  of  watching  and  slow  grief. 
Come,  I  will  sing  you  some  low  sleepy  tune, 
Not  cheerful,  nor  yet  sad ;  some  dull  old  thing, 
Some  outworn  and  unused  monotony, 
Such  as  our  country  gossips  sing  and  spin, 
Till  they  almost  forget  they  live  :  lie  down  ! 
So,  that  will  do.     Have  I  forgot  the  words  ? 
Faith  !  they  are  sadder  than  I  thought  they  were. 

SONG. 

False  friend,  wilt  thou  smile  or  weep 
When  my  life  is  laid  asleep  ? 
Little  cares  for  a  smile  or  a  tear, 
The  clay-cold  corpse  upon  the  bier ! 

Farewell !  Heigho ! 

What  is  this  whispers  low  ? 


THE  CENCI.  53 

There  is  a  snake  in  thy  smile,  my  dear ; 
And  a  hitter  poison  within  thy  tear. 
Sweet  sleep  !  were  death  like  to  thee, 
Or  if  thou  couldst  mortal  be, 
I  would  close  these  eyes  of  pain ; 
When  to  wake  '.  Never  again. 

O  World,  farewell ! 

Listen  to  the  passing  bell ! 
It  says,  thou  and  I  must  part, 
With  a  light  and  heavy  heart.  (The  scene  closes.) 


Scene  IV. 
A  Hall  of  the  Prison.     Enter  Camillo  and  Bernardo. 

Cam.  The  Pope  is  stern ;  not  to  be  moved  or  bent 
He  looked  as  calm  and  keen  as  is  the  engine 
Which  tortures  and  which  kills,  exempt  itself 
From  aught  that  it  inflicts ;  a  marble  form, 
A  rite,  a  law,  a  custom  :  not  a  man. 
He  frowned,  as  if  to  frown  had  been  the  trick 
Of  his  machinery,  on  the  advocates 
Presenting  the  defences,  which  he  tore 
And  threw  behind,  muttering,  with  hoarse,  harsh  voice: 
"  Which  among  ye  defended  their  old  father, 
Killed  in  his  sleep  ?"     Then  to  another :   "  Thou 
Dost  this  in  virtue  of  thy  place  ;  'tis  well." 
He  turned  to  me  then,  looking  sad  deprecation, 
And  said  these  three  words,  coldly :  "  They  must  die !" 

Ber.  And  yet  you  left  him  not  ? 

Cam.  I  urged  him  still ; 

Pleading,  as  I  could  guess,  the  devilish  wrong 
Which  prompted  your  unnatural  parent's  death. 
And  he  replied:  "  Paolo  Santa  Croce 
Murdered  his  mother  yester  evening, 
And  he  is  fled.     Parricide  grows  so  rife, 
That  soon,  for  some  just  cause  no  doubt,  the  young 
Will  strangle  us  all,  dozing  in  our  chairs. 
Authority,  and  power,  and  hoary  hair, 
Are  grown  crimes  capital.     You  are  my  nephew, 
You  come  to  ask  their  pardon  ;  stay  a  moment. 
Here  is  their  sentence  ;  never  see  me  more 
Till,  to  the  letter,  it  be  all  fulfilled." 

•  Ber.  O  God!  not  so!   I  did  believe  indeed 
That  all  you  said  was  but  sad  preparation 
For  happy  news.     Oh,  there  are  words  and  looks 
To  bend  the  sternest  purpose!  Once  I  knew  them: 
Now  I  forget  them  at  my  dearest  need. 
What  think  you  if  I  seek  him  out,  and  bathe 
His  feet  and  robe  with  hot  and  bitter  tears  ? 
Importune  him  with  prayers,  vexing  his  brain 
With  my  perpetual  cries,  until  in  rage 
He  strike  me  with  his  pastoral  cross,  and  trample 


54  THE  CENCI. 

Upon  my  prostrate  head,  so  that  my  blood 

May  stain  the  senseless  dust  on  which  he  treads, 

And  remorse  waken  mercy?   I  will  do  it! 

Oh,  wait  till  I  return  !  (Rushes  o«/.)_ 

Cam.  Alas  !  poor  boy  ! 

A  wreck-devoted  seaman  thus  might  pray 
To  the  deaf  sea. 

Enter  Lucretia,  Beatrice,  and  Giacomo,  guarded. 

Beatr  I  hardly  dare  to  fear 
That  then  bring'st  other  news  than  a  just  pardon. 

Cam.  May  God  in  heaven  be  less  inexorable 
To  the  Pope's  prayers  than  he  has  been  to  mine. 
Here  is  the  sentence  and  the  warrant. 

Beatr.   (wild/;/.)  Oh, 

My  God !  can  it  be  possible  I  have 
To  die  so  suddenly  ?  So  young  to  go 
Under  the  obscure,  cold,  rotting,  wormy  ground ! 
To  be  nailed  down  into  a  narrow  place  ; 
To  see  no  more  sweet  sunshine  ;  hear  no  more 
Blithe  voice  of  living  thing;  muse  not  again 
Upon  familiar  thoughts,  sad,  yet  thus  lost — ■ 
How  fearful !  To  be  nothing  !  or  to  be — 
What  ?   Oh,  where  am  I  ?     Let  me  not  go  mad  ! 
Sweet  Heaven,  forgive  weak  thoughts !   If  there  should  be 
No  God,  no  Heaven,  no  Earth,  in  the  void  world ; 
The  wide,  grey,  lampless,  deep,  unpeopled  world! 
If  all  things  then  should  be — my  father's  spirit, 
His  eye,  his  voice,  his  touch,  surrounding  me; 
The  atmosphere  and  breath  of  my  dead  life! 
If  sometimes,  as  a  shape  more  like  himself, 
Even  the  form  which  tortured  me  on  earth, 
Masked  in  grey  hairs  and  wrinkles,  he  should  come, 
And  wind  me  in  his  hellish  arms,  and  fix 
His  eyes  on  mine,  and  drag  me  down,  down,  down  1 
For  was  he  not  alone  omnipotent 
On  earth,  and  ever  present?   Even  though  dead, 
Does  not  his  spirit  live  in  all  that  breathe, 
And  work  for  me  and  mine  still  the  same  ruin, 
Scorn,  pain,  despair  ?     Who  ever  yet  returned 
To  teach  the  laws  of  death's  untrodden  realm? 
Unjust  perhaps  as  those  which  drive  us  now, 
Oh,  whither,  whither? 

Lucr.  Trust  in  God's  sweet  love, 
The  tender  promises  of  Christ :  ere  night, 
Think  we  shall  be  in  Paradise. 

Beatr.  'Tispast! 

Whatever  comes,  my  heart  shall  sink  no  more. 
And  yet,  I  know  not  why,  your  words  strike  chill : 
How  tedious,  false,  and  cold,  seem  all  things !     I 


THE  CENCI.  55 

Have  met  with  much  injustice  in  this  world  ; 

No  difference  has  been  made  by  God  or  man, 

Or  any  power  moulding  my  wretched  lot, 

'Twixt  good  or  evil,  as  regarded  me. 

I  am  cut  off  from  the  only  world  I  know, 

From  light,  and,  life,  and  love,  in  youth's  sweet  prime. 

You  do  well,  telling  me  to  trust  in  God : 

I  hope  I  do  trust  in  him.     In  whom  else 

Can  any  trust  ?     And  yet  my  heart  is  cold. 

(During  the  latter  speeches,  Giacomo  has  retired  conversing 
with  Camillo,  who  noiv  goes  out.     Giacomo  advances.) 
Giac.  Know  you  not,  mother — sister,  know  you  not — 

Bernardo  even  now  is  gone  to  implore 

The  Pope  to  grant  our  pardon  1 

Liter.  Child,  perhaps 

It  will  be  granted.     We  may  all  then  live 

To  make  these  woes  a  tale  for  distant  years ; 

O,  what  a  thought !     It  gushes  to  my  heart 

Like  the  warm  blood. 

Beatr.                   Yet  both  will  soon  be  cold. 
Oh,  trample  out  that  thought !     Worse  than  despair, 
Worse  than  the  bitterness  of  death,  is  hope : 
It  is  the  only  ill  which  can  find  place 
Upon  the  giddy,  sharp,  and  narrow  hour 
Tottering  beneath  us.     Plead  with  the  swift  frost 
That  it  should  spare  the  eldest  flower  of  spring : 
Plead  with  awakening  earthquake,  o'er  whose  couch 
Even  now  a  city  stands,  fair,  strong,  and  free ; 
Now  stench  and  blackness  yawns,  like  death.     Oh,  plead 
With  famine,  or  wind-walking  pestilence, 
Blind  lightning,  or  the  deaf  sea,  not  with  man  ! 
Cruel,  cold,  formal  man  !  righteous  in  words, 
In  deeds  a  Cain.     No,  mother,  we  must  die, 
Since  such  is  the  reward  of  innocent  lives, 
Such  the  alleviation  of  worst  wrongs. 
And  whilst  our  murderers  live,  and  hard,  cold  men, 
Smiling  and  slow,  walk  thro'  a  world  of  tears 
To  death  as  to  life's  sleep,  'twere  just  the  grave 
Were  some  strange  joy  for  us.     Come,  obscure  Death, 
And  wind  me  in  thine  all-embracing  arms  ! 
Like  a  fond  mother  hide  me  in  thy  bosom, 
And  rock  me  to  the  sleep  from  which  none  wake. 
Live  ye,  who  live,  subject  to  one  another, 
As  we  were  once,  who  now 

Bernardo  rushes  in. 

Ber.  Oh,  horrible ! 

That  tears,  that  looks,  that  hope  poured  forth  in  prayer, 
Even  till  the  heart  is  vacant  and  despairs, 
Should  all  be  vain  !     The  ministers  of  death 


56  THE  CENCI. 

Are  waiting  round  the  doors.     I  thought  I  saw 
Blood  on  the  face  of  one — what  if  'twere  fancy  t 
Soon  the  heart's  blood  of  all  I  love  on  earth 
Will  sprinkle  him,  and  he  will  wipe  it  off 
As  if  'twere  only  rain.     O  life !  O  world  ! 
Cover  me !  let  me  be  no  more  !  To  see 
That  perfect  mirror  of  pure  innocence 
Wherein  I  gazed,  and  grew  happy  and  good, 
Shivered  to  dust !  To  see  thee,  Beatrice, 
Who  made  all  lovely  thou  didst  look  upon — 
Thee,  light  of  life— dead,  dark!  while  I  say,  sister, 
To  hear  I  have  no  sister ;  and  thou,  mother, 
Whose  love  was  a  bond  to  all  our  loves — 
Dead !  The  sweet  bond  broken  ! 

Enter  Camillo  and  Guards. 

They  come!   Let  me 
Kiss  those  warm  lips  before  their  crimson  leaves 
Are  blighted — white — cold.     Say  farewell,  before 
Death  chokes  that  gentle  voice  !  Oh,  let  me  hear 
You  speak ! 

Beatr.  Farewell,  my  tender  brother.     Think 

Of  our  sad  fate  with  gentleness,  as  now : 
And  let  mild  pitying  thoughts  lighten  for  thee 
Thy  sorrow's  load.     Err  not  in  harsh  despair, 
But  tears  and  patience.     One  thing  more,  my  child  ; 
For  thine  own  sake,  be  constant  to  the  love 
Thou  bearest  us  ;  and  to  the  faith  that  I, 
Though  wrapt  in  a  strange  cloud  of  crime  and  shame, 
Lived  ever  holy  and  unstained.     And  though 
111  tongues  shall  wound  me,  and  our  common  name 
Be  as  a  mark  stamped  on  thine  innocent  brow 
For  men  to  point  at  as  they  pass,  do  thou 
Forbear,  and  never  think  a  thought  unkind 
Of  those  who  perhaps  love  thee  in  their  graves. 
So  mayest  thou  die  as  I  do,  fear  and  pain 
Being  subdued.     Farewell !  farewell !  farewell  I 

Ber.  I  cannot  say,  farewell ! 

Cam.  O,  Lady  Beatrice  ! 

Beatr.  Give  yourself  no  unnecessary  pain, 
My  dear  Lord  Cardinal.     Here,  mother,  tie 
My  girdle  for  me,  and  bind  up  this  hair 
In  any  simple  knot ;  ay,  that  does  well. 
And  yours  I  see  is  coming  down.     How  often 
Have  we  done  this  for  one  another  !  now 
We  shall  not  do  it  any  more.     My  Lord, 
We  are  quite  ready.     Well,  'tis  very  well. 


END  OF  THE  CENCI 


TO  HARRIET  *  *  *  *  * 

Whose  love  is  the  love  that,  gleaming  through  the  world, 
Wards  off  the  poisonous  arrows  of  its  scorn  ? 

Whose  is  the  warm  and  partial  praise, 

Virtue's  most  sweet  reward? 

Beneath  whose  looks  did  my  reviving  sou 
Riper  in  truth  and  virtuous  daring  grow  1 

Whose  eyes  have  I  gazed  fondly  on, 

And  loved  mankind  the  more  I 

Harriet !   on  thine : — thou  wert  my  purer  micdj 
Thou  wert  the  inspiration  of  my  song ; 

Thine  are  these  early  wilding  flowers, 

Though  garlanded  by  me. 

Then  press  unto  thy  breast  this  pledge  of  love, 

And  know,  though  time  may  change,  and  years  may  roll. 

Each  floweret  gathered  in  my  heart 

It  consecrates  to  thine. 


QUEEN   MAB. 


How  wonderful  is  Death  ! 

Death  and  his  brother  Sleep ! 
One,  pale  as  yonder  waning  moon, 

With  lips  of  lurid  blue  ; 

The  other,  rosy  as  the  morn 
When  throned  on  ocean's  wave, 

It  blushes  o'er  the  world : 
Yet  both  so  passing  wonderful  I 

Hath  then  the  gloomy  Power 
Whose  reign  is  in  the  tainted  sepulchres 
Seized  on  her  sinless  soul  ? 
Must  then  that  peerless  form 
Which  love  and  admiration  cannot  view 
Without  a  beating  heart,  those  azure  veins 
Which  steal  like  streams  along  a  field  of  snow, 
That  lovely  outline,  which  is  fair 
As  breathing  marble,  perish  1 
Must  putrefaction's  breath 
Leave  nothing  of  this  heavenly  sight 

But  loathsomeness  and  ruin  ? 
Spare  nothing  but  a  gloomy  theme, 
On  which  the  lightest  heart  might  moralize? 
Or  is  it  only  a  sweet  slumber 
Stealing  o'er  sensation, 
Which  the  breath  of  roseate  morning 
Chaseth  into  darkness  ? 
Will  Ianthe  wake  again, 


58  QUEEN  MAB. 

And  give  that  faithful  bosom  joy, 
Whose  sleepless  spirit  waits  to  catch 
Light,  life,  and  rapture,  from  her  smile  ? 

Yes  !  she  will  wake  again, 
Although  her  glowing  limbs  are  motionless, 
And  silent  those  sweet  lips, 
Once  breathing  eloquence 
That  might  have  soothed  a  tiger's  rage, 
Or  thawed  the  cold  heart  of  a  conqueror. 
Her  dewy  eyes  are  closed, 
And  on  their  lids,  whose  texture  fine 
Scarce  hides  the  dark  blue  orbs  beneath, 
The  baby  Sleep  is  pillowed: 
Her  golden  tresses  shade 
The  bosom's  stainless  pride, 
Curling  like  tendrils  of  the  parasite 
Around  a  marble  column. 

Hark  !  whence  that  rushing  sound  ? 

"lis  like  the  wondrous  strain 
That  round  a  lonely  ruin  swells, 
Which,  wandering  on  the  echoing  shore, 

The  enthusiast  hears  at  evening: 
'Tis  softer  than  the  west  wind's  sigh ; 
'Tis  wilder  than  the  unmeasured  notes 
Of  that  strange  lyre  whose  strings 
The  genii  of  the  breezes  sweep: 

Those  lines  of  rainbow  light 
Are  like  the  moonbeams  when  they  fall 
Through  some  cathedral  window,  but  the  teints 

Are  such  as  may  not  find 

Comparison  on  earth. 

Behold  the  chariot  of  the  Fairy  Queen  ! 
Celestial  coursers  paw  the  unyielding  air ; 
Their  filmy  pennons  at  her  word  they  furl, 
And  stop  obedient  to  the  reins  of  light : 
These  the  Queen  of  Spells  drew  in, 
She  spreads  a  charm  around  the  spot, 
Arid,  leaning  graceful  from  the  ethereal  car, 
Long  did  she  gaze,  and  silently, 
Upon  the  slumbering  maid. 
Oh  !  not  the  visioned  poet  in  his  dreams, 
When  silvery  clouds  float  through  the  wildered  brain, 
When  every  sight  of  lovely,  wild,  and  grand, 
Astonishes,  enraptures,  elevates, 

When  fancy  at  a  glance  combines 
The  wondrous  and  the  beautiful, — 
So  bright,  so  fair,  so  wild  a  shape 


QUEEN  MAB,  59 

Hath  ever  yet  beheld, 
As  that  which  reined  the  coursers  of  the  air, 
And  poured  the  magic  of  a  gaze 
Upon  the  slumbering  maid 

The  broad  and  yellow  moon 

Shone  dimly  through  her  form — 
That  form  of  faultless  symmetry ; 
The  pearly  and  pellucid  car 

Moved  not  the  moonlight's  line : 

'Twas  not  an  earthly  pageant. 
Those  who  had  looked  upon  the  sight, 

Passing  all  human  glory, 

Saw  not  the  yellow  moon, 

Saw  not  the  mortal  scene, 

Heard  not  the  night-wind's  rush, 

Heard  not  an  earthly  sound, 

Saw  but  the  fairy  pageant, 

Heard  but  the  heavenly  strains 

That  filled  the  lonely  dwelling. 

The  Fairy's  frame  was  slight;  yon  fibrous  cloud, 
That  catches  but  the  palest  tinge  of  even, 
And  which  the  straining  eye  can  hardly  seize 
When  melting  into  eastern  twilight's  shadow, 
Were  scarce  so  thin,  so  slight ;  but  the  fair  star 
That  gems  the  glittering  coronet  of  morn, 
Sheds  not  a  light  so  mild,  so  powerful, 
As  that  which,  bursting  from  the  Fairy's  form, 
Spread  a  purpureal  halo  round  the  scene, 
Yet  with  an  undulating  motion, 
Swayed  to  her  outline  gracefully. 

From  her  celestial  car 

The  Fairy  Queen  descended, 

And  thrice  she  waved  her  wand 
Circled  with  wreaths  of  amaranth  : 
Her  thin  ami  misty  form 
Moved  with  the  moving  air, 
And  the  clear  silver  tones, 
As  thus  she  spoke,  were  such 
As  are  unheard  by  all  but  gifted  ear. 

Fairy.     Stars  !  your  balmiest  influence  shed  ! 
Elements  !  your  wrath  suspend  ! 
Sleep,  Ocean,  in  the  rocky  bounds 
That  circle  thy  domain ! 
Let  not  a  breath  be  seen  to  stir 
Around  yon  grass-grown  ruin's  height, 
Let  even  the  restless  gossamer 


60  QUEEN  MAB. 

Sleep  on  the  moveless  air  ! 
Soul  ot'Ianthe  !  thou, 
Judged  alone  worthy  of  the  envied  boon 
That  waits  the  good  and  the  sincere  j  that  waits 
Those  who  have  struggled,  and  with  resolute  will 
Vanquished  earth's  pride  and  meanness,  burst  the  chains, 
The  icy  chains  of  custom,  and  have  shone 
The  day-stars  of  their  age  ; — Soul  of  Ianthe  1 
Awake !  arise ! 

Sudden  arose 
Ianthe's  Soul !     It  stood 
All  beautiful  in  naked  purity, 
The  perfect  semblance  of  its  bodily  frame. 
Instinct  with  inexpressible  beauty  and  grace, 
Each  stain  of  earthliness 
Had  passed  away :  it  reassumed 
Its  native  dignity,  and  stood 
Immortal  amid  ruin. 

Upon  the  couch  the  body  lay, 
Wrapt  in  the  depth  of  slumber : 
Its  features  were  fixed  and  meaningless, 
Yet  animal  life  was  there, 
And  every  organ  yet  performed 
Its  natural  functions:  'twas  a  sight 
Of  wonder  to  behold  the  body  and  soul. 
The  self-same  lineaments,  the  same 
Marks  of  identity  were  there: 
Yet,  oh,  how  different!  One  aspires  to  heaven, 
Pants  for  its  sempiternal  heritage, 
And  ever  changing,  ever  rising  still, 

Wantons  in  endless  being. 
The  other,  for  a  time  the  unwilling  sport 
Of  circumstance  and  passion,  struggles  on  ; 
Fleets  through  its  sad  duration  rapidly ; 
Then,  like  a  useless  and  worn-out  machine, 
Rots,  perishes,  and  passes. 

Fairy.     Spirit!  who  hast  dived  so  deep ; 
Spirit !  who  hast  soared  so  high  ; 
Thou  the  fearless,  thou  the  mild, 
Accept  the  boon  thy  worth  hath  earned, 
Ascend  the  car  with  me. 

Spirit.     Do  I  dream  ?  is  this  new  feeling 
But  a  visioned  ghost  of  slumber  ? 

If  indeed  1  am  a  soul, 
A  free,  a  disembodied  soul, 

Speak  again  to  me. 


QUEEN  MAB.  Gl 

Fairy.     I  ana  the  Fairy  Mab  :  to  me'tis  given 

The  wonders  of  the  human  world  to  keep: 
The  secrets  of  the  immeasurable  past, 

In  the  unfailing  consciences  of  men, 
Those  stern,  unflattering  chroniclers,  I  find : 
The  future,  from  the  causes  which  arise 
In  each  event,  I  gather :  not  the  sting 
Which  retributive  memory  implants 
In  the  hard  bosom  of  the  selfish  man  ; 
Nor  that  ecstatic  and  exulting  throb 
Which  virtue's  votary  feels  when  he  sums  up 
The  thoughts  and  actions  of  a  well-spent  day, 
Are  unforeseen,  unregistered  by  me  : 
And  it  is  yet  permitted  me,  to  rend 
The  veil  of  mortal  frailty,  that  the  spirit, 
Clothed  in  its  changeless  purity,  may  know 
How  soonest  to  accomplish  the  great  end 
For  which  it  hath  its  being,  and  may  taste 
That  peace  which,  in  the  end,  all  life  will  share. 
This  is  the  meed  of  virtue  ;  happy  Soul, 
Ascend  the  car  with  me  ! 

The  chains  of  earth's  immurement 

Fell  from  Ianthe's  spirit; 
They  shrank  and  brake  like  bandages  of  straw 
Beneath  a  wakened  giant's  strength. 

She  knew  her  glorious  change, 
And  felt  in  apprehension  uncontrolled 

New  raptures  opening  round : 
Each  day-dream  of  her  mortal  life, 
Each  frenzied  vision  of  the  slumbers 

That  closed  each  well-spent  day, 

Seemed  now  to  meet  reality. 

The  Fairy  and  the  Soul  proceeded ; 

The  silver  clouds  disparted  ; 
And,  as  the  car  of  magic  they  ascended, 
Again  the  speechless  music  swelled, 
Again  the  coursers  of  the  air 
Unfurled  their  azure  pennons,  and  the  Queen, 
Shaking  the  beamy  reins, 
Bade  them  pursue  their  way. 

The  magic  car  moved  on. 
The  night  was  fair,  and  countless  stars 
Studded  heaven's  dark  blue  vaults, — 

Just  o'er  the  eastern  wave 
Peeped  the  first  faint  smile  of  morn  : — 
The  magic  car  moved  on — 
From  the  celestial  hoofs 
The  atmosphere  in  flaming  sparkles  flew, 
6* 


62  QUEEN  MA.B. 

And  where  the  burning  wheels 
Eddied  above  the  mountain's  loftiest  peak, 

Was  traced  a  line  of  lightning. 
Now  it  flew  far  above  a  rock, 

The  utmost  verge  of  earth, 
The  rival  of  the  Andes,  whose  dark  brow 

Lowered  o'er  the  silver  sea. 

Far,  far  below  the  chariot's  path, 

Calm  as  a  slumbering  babe, 

Tremendous  Ocean  lay. 
The  mirror  of  its  stillness  showed 

The  pale  and  waning  stars, 

The  chariot's  fiery  track, 

And  the  grey  light  of  morn 

Tinging  those  fleecy  clouds 

That  canopied  the  dawn. 
Seemed  it,  that  the  chariot' s  way 
Lay  through  the  midst  of  an  immense  concave, 
Radiant  with  million  constellations,  tinged 

With  shades  of  infinite  colour, 

And  semicirled  with  a  belt 

Flashing  incessant  meteors. 

The  magic  car  moved  on. 
As  they  approached  their  goal, 
The  coursers  seemed  to  gather  speed : 

The  sea  no  longer  was  distinguished  ;  earth 

Appeared  a  vast  and  shadowy  sphere  : 
The  sun's  unclouded  orb 
Rolled  through  the  black  concave  ; 
Its  rays  of  rapid  light 
Parted  around  the  chariot's  swifter  course, 
And  fell  like  ocean's  feathery  spray 
Dashed  from  the  boiling  surge 
Before  a  vessel's  prow. 

The  magic  car  moved  on. 
Earth's  distant  orb  appeared 

The  smallest  light  that  twinkles  in  the  heaven; 

Whilst  round  the  chariot's  way 

Innumerable  systems  rolled, 

And  countless  spheres  diffused 

An  ever-varying  glory. 
It  was  a  sight  of  wonder :  some 
Were  horned  like  the  crescent  moon; 
Some  shed  a  mild  and  silver  beam 
Like  Hesperus  o'er  the  western  sea; 
Some  dash'd  athwart  with  trains  of  flame, 

Like  worlds  to  death  and  ruin  driven; 


QUEEN  MAB.  63 

Some  shone  like  suns  and,  as  the  chariot  passed, 
Eclipsed  all  other  light 

Spirit  of  Nature  !  here ! 
In  this  interminable  wilderness 
Of  worlds,  at  whose  immensity- 
Even  soaring  fancy  staggers, 
Here  is  thy  fitting  temple. 
Yet  not  the  lightest  leaf 
That  quivers  to  the  passing  breeze 
Is  less  instinct  with  thee: 
Yet  not  the  meanest  worm 
That  lurks  in  graves,  and  fattens  on  the  dead, 
Less  shares  thy  eternal  breath. 

Spirit  of  Nature  !   thou  ! 
Imperishable  as  this  scene, 
Here  is  thy  fitting  temple. 


If  solitude  hath  ever  led  thy  steps 
To  the  wild  ocean's  echoing  shore, 

And  thou  hast  lingered  there 

Until  the  sun's  broad  orb 
Seemed  resting  on  the  burnished  wave, 

Thou  must  have  marked  the  lines 
Of  purple  gold,  that  motionless 

Hung  o'er  the  sinking  sphere  : 
Thou  must  have  marked  the  billowy  clouds, 
Edged  with  intolerable  radiancy, 
-  Towering  like  rocks  of  jet 

Crowned  with  a  diamond  wreath. 

And  yet  there  is  a  moment, 

When  the  sun's  highest  point 
Peeps  like  a  star  o'er  ocean's  western  edge, 
When  those  far  clouds  of  feathery  gold, 
Shaded  with  deepest  purple,  gleam 
Like  islands  on  a  dark  blue  sea ; 
Then  has  thy  fancy  soared  above  the  earth, 

And  furled  its  wearied  wing 

Within  the  Fairy's  fane. 


Yet  not  the  golden 
Gleaming  in  yon  flood  of  light, 

Nor  the  feathery  curtains 
Stretching  o'er  the  sun's  bright  couch, 
Nor  the  burnished  ocean's  waves 

Paving  that  gorgeous  dome, 
So  fair,  so  wonderful  a  sight 
As  Mab's  ethereal  palace  could  afford. 
Yet  likest  evening's  vault,  that  fairy  Hall! 


4  QUEEN  MAB. 

A:   Heaven,  low  resting  on  the  wave,  it  spread 
Its  floors  of  flashing  light, 
Its  vast  and  azure  dome, 
Its  fertile  golden  islands 
Floating  on  a  silver  sea  ; 
Whilst  suns  their  mingling  beamings  darted 
Through  clouds  of  circumambient  darkness, 
And  pearly  battlements  around 
Looked  o'er  the  immense  of  Heaven. 

The  magic  car  no  longer  moved. 
The  Fairy  and  the  Spirit 
Entered  the  Hall  of  Spells: 
Those  golden  clouds, 
That  rolled  in  glittering  billows 
Beneath  the  azure  canopy, 
With  the  ethereal  footsteps,  trembled  not: 

The  light  and  crimson  mists, 
Floating  to  strains  of  thrilling  melody 

Through  that  unearthly  dwelling, 
Yielded  to  every  movement  of  the  will. 
Upon  their  passive  swell  the  Spirit  leaned, 
And,  for  the  varied  bliss  that  pressed  around, 
Used  not  the  glorious  privilege 
Of  virtue  and  of  wisdom. 

Spirit !  the  Fairy  said, 
And  pointed  to  the  gorgeous  dome, 
This  is  a  wondrous  sight, 
And  mocks  all  human  grandeur ; 
But,  were  it  virtue's  only  meed  to  dwell 
In  a  celestial  palace,  all  resigned 
To  pleasureable  impulses,  immured 
Within  the  prison  of  itself,  the  will 
Of  changeless  nature  would  be  unfulfilled. 
Learn  to  make  others  happy.     Spirit,  come ! 
This  is  thine  high  reward  :— the  past  shall  risei 
Thou  shalt  behold  the  present:   I  will  teach 
The  secrets  of  the  future. 

The  Fairy  and  the  Spirit 

Approached  the  overhanging  battlement. — 

Below  lay  stretched  the  universe  1 

There,  far  as  the  remotest  line 

That  bounds  imagination's  flight, 

Countless  and  unending  orbs, 
In  mazy  motion  intermingled, 
fet  still  fulfilled  immutably 

Ethereal  nature's  law. 

Above,  below,  around, 

The  circling  systems  formed 


QUEEN  MAB.  65 

A  wilderness  of  harmony ; 
Each  with  undeviating  aim, 
In  eloquent  silence,  through  the  depths  of  space 
Pursued  its  wondrous  way.  j 

There  was  a  little  light 
That  twinkled  in  the  misty  distance : 

None  but  a  spirit's  eye 

Might  ken  that  rolling  orb  ; 

None  but  a  spirit's  eye, 

And  in  no  other  place 
But  that  celestial  dwelling,  might  behold 
Each  action  of  this  earth's  inhabitants. 

But  matter,  space,  and  time, 
In  those  aerial  mansions  cease  to  act : 
And  all-prevailing  wisdom,  when  it  reaps 
The  harvest  of  its  excellence,  o'erbounds 
Those  obstacles  of  which  an  earthly  soul 

Fears  to  attempt  the  conquest. 

The  Fairy  pointed  to  the  earth. 
The  Spirit's  intellectual  eye 
Its  kindred  beings  recognized. 
The  thronging  thousands,  to  a  passing  view, 
Seemed  like  an  ant-hill's  citizens. 
How  wonderful !  that  even 
The  passions,  prejudices,  interests, 
That  sway  the  meanest  being,  the  weak  touch 
That  moves  the  finest  nerve, 
And  in  one  human  brain 
Causes  the  faintest  thought,  becomes  a  link 
In  the  great  chain  of  nature. 

Behold,  the  Fairy  cried, 
Palmyra's  ruined  palaces  ! — 

Behold  !  where  grandeur  frowned  ; 

Behold  !  where  pleasure  smiled ; 
What  now  remains  ? — the  memory 

Of  senselessness  and  shame — 

What  is  immortal  there  ? 

Nothing — it  stands  to  tell 

A  melancholy  tale,  to  give 

An  awful  warning :  soon 
Oblivion  will  steal  silently 

The  remnant  of  its  fame. 

Monarchs  and  conquerors  there 
Proud  o'er  prostrate  millions  trod — 
The  earthquakes  of  the  human  race ; 
Like  them,  forgotten  when  the  ruin 

That  marks  their  shock  is  past. 

Beside  the  eternal  Nile 


66  QUEEN  MAB. 

The  pyramids  have  risen. 
Nile  shall  pursue  his  changeless  way; 

Those  pyramids  shall  fall : 
Yea,  not  a  stone  shall  stand  to  tell 

The  spot  whereon  they  stood  ; 
Their  very  site  shall  be  forgotten, 

As  is  their  builder's  name  ! 

Behold  yon  sterile  spot, 
Where  now  the  wandering  Arab's  tent 
Flaps  in  the  desert  blast. 

There  once  old  Salem's  haughty  fane 
Reared  high  to  heaven  its  thousand  golden  dames, 

And  in  the  blushing  face  of  day 
Exposed  its  shameful  glory. 
Oh !  many  a  widow,  many  an  orphan,  cursed 
The  building  of  that  fane  ;  and  many  a  father, 
Worn  out  with  toil  and  slavery,  implored 
The  poor  man's  God  to  sweep  it  from  the  earth, 
Arid  spare  his  children  the  detested  task 
Of  piling  stone  on  stone,  and  poisoning 
The  choicest  days  of  life, 
To  soothe  a  dotard's  vanity. 
There  an  inhuman  and  uncultured  race 
Howled  hideous  praises  to  their  Demon-God; 
They  rushed  to  war,  tore  from  the  mother's  womb 
The  unborn  child, — old  age  and  infancy 
Promiscuous  perished ;  their  victorious  arms 
Left  not  a  soul  to  breathe.     Oh  !  they  were  fiends: 
But  what  was  he  that  taught  them  that  the  God 
Of  nature  and  benevolence  had  given 
A  special  sanction  to  the  trade  of  blood  ? 
His  name  and  theirs  are  fading,  and  the  tales 
Of  this  barbarian  nation,  which  imposture 
Recites  till  terror  credits,  are  pursuing 

Itself  into  forgetfulness. 

Where  Athens,  Rome,  and  Sparta  stood, 
There  is  a  moral  desert  now : 
The  mean  and  miserable  huts, 
The  yet  more  wretched  palaces, 
Contrasted  with  those  ancient  fanes, 
Now  crumbling  to  oblivion  ; 
The  long  and  lonely  colonnades, 
Through  which  the  ghost  of  Freedom  stalks. 

Seem  like  a  well-known  tune, 
Which  in  some  dear  scene  we  have  loved  to  hear, 

Remembered  now  in  sadness. 

But,  oh  !  how  much  more  changed. 

How  gloomier  is  the  contrast. 


QUEEN  MAB.  67 

Of  human  nature  there  ! 
Where  Secrates  expired,  a  tyrant's  slave, 
A  coward  and  a  fool,  spreads  death  around — 

Then,  shuddering,  meets  his  own. 
Where  Cicero  and  Antonius  lived, 
A  cowled  and  hypocritical  monk 

Prays,  curses,  and  deceives. 

Spirit!  ten  thousand  years 
Have  scarcely  past  away, 
Since,  in  the  waste  where  now  the  savage  drinks 
His  enemy's  blood,  and,  aping  Europe's  sons, 
Wakes  the  unholy  Bong  of  war, 
Arose  a  stately  city, 
Metropolis  of  the  western  continent : 

There,  now,  the  mossy  column  stone, 

Indented  by  Time's  unrelaxing  grasp, 

Which  once  appeared  to  brave 

All,  save  its  country's  ruin ; 

There  the  wide  forest  scene, 

Rude  in  the  uncultivated  loveliness 

Of  gardens  long  run  wild, 
Seems,  to  the  unwilling  sojourner,  whose  steps 

Chance  in  that  desert  has  delayed,. 
Thus  to  have  stood  since  earth  was  what  it  is. 

Yet  once  it  was  the  busiest  haunt, 
Whither,  as  to  a  common  centre,  flocked 
Strangers,  and  ships,  and  merchandize: 
Once  peace  and  freedom  blest 
The  cultivated  plain : 
But  wealth,  that  curse  of  man, 
Blighted  the  bud  of  its  prosperity : 
Virtue  and  wisdom,  truth  and  liberty, 
Fled,  to  return  not,  until  man  should  know- 
That  they  alone  can  give  the  bliss 

Worthy  a  soul  that  claims 
Its  kindred  with  eternity. 

There's  not  one  atom  of  yon  earth 

But  once  was  living  man  ; 
Nor  the  minutest  drop  of  rain, 
That  hangeth  in  its  thinnest  cloud, 

But  flowed  in  human  veins  ; 

And  from  the  burning  plains 

Where  Lybian  monsters  yell, 

From  the  most  gloomy  glens 

Of  Greenland's  sunless  clime, 

To  where  the  golden  fields 


68  QUEEN  MAB. 

Of  fertile  England  spread 
Their  harvest  to  the  day, 
Thou  canst  not  find  one  spot 
Whereon  no  city  stood. 

How  strange  is  human  pride  ! 
I  tell  thee  that  those  living  things, 
To  whom  the  fragile  blade  of  grass, 
That  springeth  in  the  morn 
And  perishes  ere  noon, 
Is  an  unbounded  world : 
I  tell  thee  that  those  viewless  beings, 
Whose  mansion  is  the  smallest  particle 
Of  the  impassive  atmosphere, 
Think,  feel,  and  live,  like  man : 
That  their  affections  and  antipathies, 
Like  his,  produce  the  laws 
Ruling  their  moral  state  ; 
And  the  minutest  throb 
That  through  their  frame  diffuses 
The  slightest,  faintest  motion. 
Is  fixed  and  indispensable 
As  the  majestic  laws 
That  rule  yon  rolling  orbs. 

The  Fairy  paused.     The  Spirit, 
In  ecstacy  of  admiration,  felt 
All  knowledge  of  the  past  revived ;  the  events 

Of  old  and  wondrous  times, 
Which  dim  tradition  interruptedly 
Teaches  the  credulous  vulgar,  were  unfolded 
In  just  perspective  to  the  view, 
Yet  dim  from  their  infinitude. 
The  Spirit  seemed  to  stand 
High  on  an  isolated  pinnacle  ; 
The  flood  of  ages  combating  below, 
The  depth  of  the  unbounded  universe 
Above,  and  all  around 
Nature's  unchanging  harmony 


Fairy  !  the  Spirit  said, 
And  on  the  Queen  of  Spells 
Fixed  her  ethereal  eyes, 
I  thank  thee.     Thou  hast  given 
A  boon  which  I  will  not  resign,  and  taught 
A  lesson  not  to  be  unlearned.     I  know 
The  past,  and  thence  I  will  essay  to  glean 
A  warning  for  the  future,  so  that  man 


QUEEN  MAB. 

May  profit  by  his  errors,  and  derive 

Experience  from  his  folly : 

„     For  when  the  power  of  imparting  joy 

Is  equal  to  the  will,  the  human  soul 

Requires  no  other  heaven. 

Mab.         Turn  thee,  surpassing  Spirit ! 
Much  yet  remains  unspanned. 
Thou  knowest  how  great  is  man, 
Thou  knowest  his  imbecility: 
Yet  learn  thou  what  lie  is  ; 
Yet  learn  the  lofty  destiny 
Which  restless  Time  prepares 
For  every  living  soul. 

Behold  a  gorgeous  palace  that,  amid 

Yon  populous  city,  rears  its  thousand  towers, 

And  seems  itself  a  city.     Gloomy  troops 

Of  sentinels,  in  stern  and  silent  ranks, 

Encompass  it  around  :  the  dweller  there 

Cannot  be  free  and  happy  ;  nearest  thou  not 

The  curses  of  the  fatherless,  the  groans 

Of  those  who  have  no  friend  ?   He  passes  on  : 

The  king,  the  wearer  of  a  gilded  chain 

That  binds  his  soul  to  abjectness,  the  fool 

Whom  courtiers  nickname  monarch,  whilst  a  slave 

Even  to  the  basest  appetites — that  man 

Heeds  not  the  shriek  of  penury  ;  he  smiles 

At  the  deep  curses  which  the  destitute 

Mutter  in  secret,  and  a  sullen  joy 

Pervades  his  bloodless  heart  when  thousands  groan 

But  for  those  morsels  which  his  wantonness 

Wastes  in  unjoyous  revelry,  to  save 

All  that  they  love  from  famine :  when  he  hears 

The  tale  of  horror,  to  some  ready-made  face 

Of  hypocritical  assent  he  turns, 

Smothering  the  glow  of  shame,  that,  spite  of  him, 

Flushes  his  bloated  cheek. 

Now  to  the  meal 
Of  silence,  grandeur,  and  excess,  he  drags 
His  palled  unwilling  appetite.     If  gold, 
Gleaming  around,  and  numerous  viands,  culled 
From  every  clime,  could  force  the  loathing  sense 
To  overcome  satiety, —  if  wealth 
The  spring  it  draws  from  poisons  not, — or  vice, 
Unfeeling,  stubborn  vice,  converteth  not 
Its  food  to  deadliest  venom  ;  then  that  king 
Is  happy  ;  and  the  peasant  who  fulfils 
His  unforced  task,  when  he  returns  at  even, 
7 


70  QUEEN  MAB. 

And  by  the  blazing  faggot  meets  again 
Her  welcome  for  whom  all  his  toil  is  sped, 
Tastes  not  a  sweeter  meal 

Behold  him  now, 
Stretched  on  the  gorgeous  couch  ;  his  fevered  brain 
Reels  dizzily  awhile  :   but,  ah  !  too  soon 
The  slumber  of  intemperance  subsides, 
And  conscience,  that  undying  serpent,  calls 
Her  venomous  brood  to  their  nocturnal  task. 
Listen  !  he  speaks  !  mark  that  frenzied  eye — 
Oh  !  mark  that  deadly  visage. 

King.  No  cessation ! 

Oh  !  must  this  last  for  ever  !  Awful  death, 
I  wish,  yet  fear  to  clasp  thee  ! — Not  one  moment 
Of  dreamless  sleep  !  O  dear  and  blessed  peace  ! 
Why  dost  thou  shroud  thy  vestal  purity 
In  penury  and  dungeons  ?  wherefore  lurkest 
With  danger,  death,  and  solitude  ;  yet  shunn'st 
The  palace  I  have  built  thee  ?   Sacred  peace  I 
Oh,  visit  me  but  once,  and  pitying  shed 
One  drop  of  balm  upon  my  withered  soul. 

Vain  man  !  that  palace  is  the  virtuous  heart, 

And  peace  dehleth  not  her  snowy  robes 

In  such  a  shed  as  thine.     Hark !  yet  he  mutters ; 

His  slumbers  are  but  varied  agonies, 

They  prey  like  scorpions  on  the  springs  of  life. 

There  needeth  not  the  hell  that  bigots  frame 

To  punish  those  who  err  :  earth  in  itself 

Contains  at  once  the  evil  and  the  cure ; 

And  all-sufficing  nature  can  chastise 

Those  who  transgress  her  law, — she  only  knows 

How  justly  to  proportion  to  the  fault 

The  punishment  it  merits. 

Is  it  strange 
That  this  poor  wretch  should  pride  him  in  his  woe? 
Take  pleasure  in  his  abjectness,  and  hug 
The  scorpion  that  consumes  him  ?   Is  it  strange 
That,  placed  on  a  conspicuous  throne  of  thorns, 
Grasping  an  iron  sceptre,  and  immured 
Within  a  splendid  prison,  whose  stern  bounds 
Shut  him  from  all  that's  good  or  dear  on  earth, 
His  soul  asserts  not  its  humanity? 
That  man's  mild  nature  rises  not  in  war 
Against  a  king's  employ  ?  No — tis  not  strange, 
He,  like  the  vulgar,  thinks,  teels,  acts,  and  lives 
Just  as  his  father  did  ;  the  unconqueied  powers 
Of  precedent  and  custom  interpose 


QUEEN  MAB.  71 

Between  a  king  and  virtue.     Stranger  yet, 
To  those  who  know  not  nature,  nor  deduce 
The  future  from  the  present,  it  may  seem 
That  not  one  slave,  who  suffers  from  the  crimes 
Of  this  unnatural  being  ;  not  one  wretch, 
Whose  children  famish,  and  whose  nuptial  hed 
In  earth's  unpitying  bosom,  rears  an  arm 
To  clash  him  from  his  throne  ! 

Those  gilded  flies, 
That,  basking,  in  the  sunshine  of  a  court, 
Fatten  on  its  corruption  ! — what  are  they  ? 
The  drones  of  the  community;  they  feed 
On  the  mechanic's  labour :   the  starved  hind 
TTor  them  compels  the  stubborn  glebe  to  yield 
Its  unshared  harvests  ;  and  yon  squalid  form, 
Leaner  than  fleshless  misery,  that  wastes 
A  sunless  life  in  the  unwholesome  mine, 
Drags  out  in  labour  a  protracted  death, 
To  glut  their  grandeur  ;  many  faint  with  toil, 

That  few  may  know  the  cares  and  woe  of  sloth. 

Whence,  thinkcst  thou,  kings  and  parasites  arose  ? 

Whence  that  unnatural  line  of  drones,  who  heap 

Toil  and  unvanquishable  penury 

On  those  who  build  their  palaces,  and  bring 

Their  daily  bread  ? — From  vice,  black,  loathsome  vice  j 

From  rapine,  madness,  treachery,  and  wrong; 

From  all  that  genders  misery,  and  makes 

Of  earth  this  thorny  wilderness  ;  from  lust, 

Revenge,  and  murder.  .  .  .  And  when  reason's  voice. 

Loud  as  the  voice  of  nature,  shall  have  waked 

The  nations  ;  and  mankind  perceive  that  vice 

Is  discord,  war,  and  misery ;  that  virtue 

Is  peace,  and  happiness,  and  harmony ; 

When  man's  maturer  nature  shall  disdain 

The  playthings  of  its  childhood  ; — kingly  glare 

Will  lose  its  power  to  dazzle ;  its  authority 

Wlil  silently  pass  by;  the  gorgeous  throne 

Shall  stand  unnoticed  in  the  regal  hall, 

Fast  falling  to  decay ;  whilst  falsehood's  trade 

Shall  be  as  hateful  and  unprofitable 

As  that  of  truth  is  now. 

Where  is  the  fame 
Which  the  vain-glorious  mighty  of  the  earth 
Seek  to  eternize  ?  Oh  !  the  faintest  sound 
From  time's  light  footfall,  the  minutest  wave 
That  swells  the  flood  of  ages,  whelms  in  nothing 
The  unsubstantial  bubble.     Aye  !  to-day 
Stern  is  the  tyrant's  mandate,  red  the  gaze 


72  QUEEN  MAB 

That  flashes  desolation,  strong  the  arm 
That  scatters  multitude.     To-morrow  comes  I 
That  mandate  is  a  thunder-peal  that  died 
In  ages  past;  that  gaze,  a  transient  flash 
On  which  the  midnight  closed,  and  on  that  arm 
The  worm  has  made  his  meal. 

The  virtuous  man, 
I  Who,  great  in  his  humility,  as  kings 
Are  little  in  their  grandeur ;  he  who  leads 
Invincibly  a  life  of  resolute  good, 
And  stands  amid  the  silent  dungeon-depths 
More  free  and  fearless  than  the  trembling  judge, 
Who,  clothed  in  venal  power,  vainly  strove 
To  bind  the  impassive  spirit; — when  he  falls 
His  mild  eye  beams  benevolence  no  more : 
Withered  the  hand  outstretched  but  to  relieve ; 
Sunk  reason's  simple  eloquence,  that  rolled 
But  to  appal  the  guilty.     Yes !  the  grave 
Hath  quenched  that  eye,  and  death's  relentless  frost 
Withered  that  arm  :  but  the  unfading  fame 
Which  virtue  hangs  upon  its  votaries  tomb  ; 
The  deathless  memory  of  that  man,  whom  kings 
Call  to  their  mind  and  tremble  ;  the  remembrance 
With  which  the  happy  spirit  contemplates 
Its  well-spent  pilgrimage  on  earth, 
Shall  never  pass  away. 

i  Nature  rejects  the  monarch,  not  the  man  ; 
The  subject,  not  the  citizen  :   for  kings 

j  And  subjects,  mutual  foes,  for  ever  play 
A  losing  game  into  each  other's  hands, 
Whose  stakes  are  vice  and  misery.     The  man 

i  Of  virtuous  soul  commands  not,  nor  obeys. 
Power,  like  a  desolating  pestilence 
Pollutes  whate'er  it  touches  ;  and  obedience, 
Bane  of  all  genius,  virtue,  freedom,  truth, 
Makes  slaves  of  men,  and,  of  the  human  frame, 
A  mechanized  automaton. 

When  Nero, 
High  over  flaming  Rome,  with  savage  joy 
Lowered  like  a  fiend,  drank  with  enraptured  ear 
The  shrieks  of  agonizing  death,  beheld 
The  frightful  desolation  spread,  and  felt 
A  new  created  sense  within  his  soul 
Thrill  to  the  sight,  and  vibrate  to  the  sound ; 
Thinkest  thou  his  grandeur  had  not  overcome 
The  force  of  human  kindness?  and,  when  Rome, 
With  one  stern  blow,  hurled  not  the  tyrant  down 


QUEEN  MAB.  73 

Crushed  not  the  arm  red  with  her  dearest  blood, 
Had  not  submissive  abjectness  destroyed 
Nature's  suggestions  ? 

Look  on  yonder  earth  : 
The  golden  harvests  spring;  the  unfailing  sun 
Sheds  light  and  life  ;  the  fruits,  the  flowers,  the  trees, 
Arise  in  due  succession  ;  all  things  speak 
Peace,  harmony  and  love.     The  universe, 
In  nature's  silent  eloquence,  declares 
That  all  fulfil  the  works  of  life  and  joy, — 
All  but  the  outcast,  man.     He  fabricates 
The  sword  which  stabs  his  peace  ;  he  cherisheth 
The  snakes  that  gnaw  his  heart;  he  raiseth  up 
The  tyrants,  whose  delight  is  in  his  woe, 
Whose  sport  is  in  his  agony.     Yon  sun, 
Lights  it  the  great  alone  ?   Yon  silver  beams, 
Sleep  they  less  sweetly  on  the  cottage  thatch, 
Than  on  the  dome  of  kings  ?     Is  mother  earth 
A  step-dame  to  her  numerous  sons,  who  earn 
Her  unshared  gifts  with  unremitting  toil ; 
A  mother  only  to  those  puling  babes 
Who,  nursed  in  ease  and  luxury,  make  men 
The  playthings  of  their  babyhood,  and  mar, 
In  self-important  childishness,  that  peace 
Which  men  alone  appreciate  ? 

Spirit  of  Nature  !  no  ! 
The  pure  diffusion  of  thy  essence  throbs 
Alike  in  every  human  heart. 
Thou,  aye,  erectest  there 
Thy  throne  of  power  unappealable  : 
Thou  art  the  judge  beneath  whose  nod 
Man's  brief  and  frail  authority 
Is  powerless  as  the  wind 
That  passeth  idly  by. 
Thine  the  tribunal  which  surpasseth 
The  shew  of  human  justice, 
As  God  surpasseth  man. 

Spirit  of  Nature  !  thou 
Life  of  interminable  multitudes  ; 

Soul  of  those  mighty  spheres 
Whose  changeless  paths  thro'  Heaven's  deep  silence  lie ; 
Soul  of  that  smallest  being, 

The  dwelling  of  whose  life 
Is  one  faint  April  sun-gleam  ; — 
Man,  like  these  passive  things, 
Thy  will  unconsciously  fulfilleth  : 
Like  theirs,  his  age  of  endless  peace, 
7* 


74  QUEEN  MAB. 

Which  time  is  fast  maturing, 
Will  swiftly,  surely  come ; 
And  the  unbounded  frame,  which  thou  pervadest, 
Will  be  without  a  flaw 
Marring  its  perfect  symmetry. 


How  beautiful  this  night !  the  balmiest  sigh, 

Which  vernal  zephyrs  breathe  in  evening's  ear 

Were  discord  to  the  speaking  quietude 

That  wraps  this  moveless  scene.     Heaven's  ebon  vault, 

Studded  with  stars  unutterably  bright, 

Through  which  the  moon's  unclouded  grandeur  rolls, 

Seems  like  a  canopy  which  love  has  spread 

To  curtain  her  sleeping  world.     Yon  gentle  hills, 

Robed  in  a  garment  of  untrodden  snow  ; 

Yon  darksome  rocks,  whence  icicles  depend, 

So  stainless,  that  their  white  and  glittering  spires 

Tinge  not  the  moon's  pure  beam  ;  yon  castle  steep, 

Whose  banner  hangeth  o'er  the  time-worn  tower 

So  idly,  that  rapt  fancy  deemeth  it 

A  metaphor  of  peace  ; — all  form  a  scene 

Where  musing  solitude  might  love  to  lift 

Her  soul  above  this  sphere  of  earthliness; 

Where  silence  undisturbed  might  watch  alone, 

So  cold,  so  bright,  so  still. 

The  orb  of  day 
In  southern  climes,  o'er  ocean's  waveless  field 
Sinks  sweetly  smiling:  not  the  faintest  breath 
Steals  o'er  the  unruffled  deep  ;  the  clouds  of  eve 
Reflect  unmoved  the  lingering  beam  of  day; 
And  vesper's  image  on  the  western  main 
Is  beautifully  still.     To-morrow  comes  : 
Cloud  upon  cloud,  in  dark  and  deepening  mass, 
Roll  o'er  the  blackened  waters ;  the  deep  roar 
Of  distant  thunder  mutters  awfully; 
Tempest  unfolds  its  pinion  o'er  the  gloom 
That  shiouds  the  boiling  surge  ;  the  pitiless  fiend, 
With  all  his  winds  and  lightnings,  tracks  his  prey; 
The  torn  deep  yawns, — the  vessel  finds  a  grave 
Beneath  its  jagged  gulf. 

Ah  !  whence  yon  glare, 
That  fires  the  arch  of  heaven  ? — that  dark  red  smoke 
Blotting  the  silver  moon  ?     The  stars  are  quenched 
In  darkness,  and  pure  and  spangling  snow 
Gleams  faintly  through  the  gloom  that  gathers  round  1 
Hark  to  that  roar,  whose  swift  and  deafening  peals 


QUEEN  MAB.  75 

In  countless  echoes  through  the  mountains  ring, 
Startling  pale  midnight  on  her  starry  throne ! 
Now  swells  the  intermingling  din;  the  jar 
Frequent  and  frightful  of  the  bursting  bomb  ; 
The  falling  beam,  the  shriek,  the  groan,  the  shout, 
The  ceaseless  clangor,  and  the  rush  of  men 
Inebriate  with  rage  : — loud,  and  more  loud 
The  discord  grows  ;  till  pale  death  shuts  the  scene, 
And  o'er  the  conqueror  and  the  conquered  draws 
His  cold  and  bloody  shroud. — Of  all  the  men 
Whom  day's  departing  beam  saw  blooming  there, 
In  proud  and  vigorous  health  ;  of  all  the  hearts 
That  beat  with  anxious  life  at  sun-set  there  j 
How  few  survive,  how  few  are  beating  now ! 
All  is  deep  silence,  like  the  fearful  calm 
That  slumbers  in  the  storm's  portentous  pause  ; 
Save  when  the  frantic  wail  of  widowed  love 
Comes  shuddering  on  the  blast,  or  the  faint  moan 
With  which  some  soul  bursts  from  the  frame  of  clay 
Wrapt  round  its  struggling  powers. 

The  grey  morn 
Dawns  on  the  mournful  scene  ;  the  sulphurous  smoke 
Before  the  icy  wind  slow  rolls  away, 
And  the  bright  beams  of  frosty  morning  dance 
Along  the  spangling  snow.     There  tracks  of  blood 
Even  to  the  forest's  depth,  and  scattered  arms, 
And  lifeless  warriors,  whose  hard  lineaments 
Death's  self  could  change  not,  mark  the  dreadful  path 
Of  the  outsallying  victors:  far  behind, 
Black  ashes  note  where  their  proud  city  stood. 
Within  yon  forest  is  a  gloomy  glen — 
Each  tree  which  guards  its  darkness  from  the  day, 
Waves  o'er  a  warrior's  tomb. 

I  see  thee  shrink, 
Surpassing  Spirit ! — wert  thou  human  else  ? 
I  see  a  shade  of  doubt  and  horror  fleet 
Across  tliy  stainless  features :  yet  fear  not ; 
This  is  no  unconnected  misery, 
Nor  stands  uncaused,  and  irretrievable. 
Man's  evil  nature,  that  apoolgy 

Which  kings  who  rule,  and  cowards  who  crouch,  set  up 
For  their  unnumbered  crimes,  sheds  not  the  blood 
Which  desolates  the  discord-wasted  land. 
From  kings,  and  priests,  and  statesmen  war  arose, 
Whose  safety  is  man's  deep  unbettered  woe, 
Whose  grandeur  his  debasement.     Let  the  axe 
Strike  at  the  root,  the  poison-tree  will  fall; 
And  where  its  venomed  exhalations  spread 


76  QUEEN  MAB. 

Ruin,  and  death,  and  woe,  where  millions  lay 
Quenching  the  serpent's  famine,  and  their  bones 
Bleaching  unburied  in  the  putrid  blast 
A  garden  shall  arise,  in  loveliness 
Surpassing  fabled  Eden. 

Hath  Nature's  soul, 
That  formed  this  world  so  beautiful,  that  spread 
Earth's  lap  with  plenty,  and  life's  smallest  chord 
Strung  to  unchanging  unison,  that  gave 
The  happy  birds  their  dwelling  in  the  grove, 
That  yielded  to  the  wanderers  of  the  deep 
The  lovely  silence  of  the  unfathomed  main, 
And  filled  the  meanest  worm  that  crawls  in  dust 
With  spirit,  thought,  and  love  ;  on  Man  alone, 
Partial  in  causeless  malice,  wantonly 
Heaped  ruin,  vice  and  slavery;  his  soul 
Blasted  with  withering  curses  ;  placed  afar 
The  meteor  happiness,  that  shuns  his  grasp, 
But  serving  on  the  frightful  gulph  to  glare, 
Rent  wide  beneath  his  footsteps  ? 

Nature  ! — no ! 
Kings,  priests,  and  statesmen,  blast  the  human  flower, 
Even  in  its  tender  bud  ;  their  influence  darts 
Like  subtle  poison  through  the  bloodless  veins 
Of  desolate  society.     The  child, 
Ere  he  can  lisp  his  mother's  sacred  name, 
Swells  with  the  unnatural  pride  of  crime,  and  lifts 
His  baby-sword  even  in  a  hero's  mood. 
This  infant-arm  becomes  the  bloodiest  scourge 
Of  devastated  earth  ;  whilst  specious  names, 
Learnt  in  soft  childhood's  unsuspecting  hour 
Serve  as  the  sophisms  with  which  manhood  dims 
Bright  reason's  ray,  and  sanctifies  the  sword 
Upraised  to  shed  a  brother's  innocent  blood. 
Let  priest-led  slaves  cease  to  proclaim  that  man 
Inherits  vice  and  misery,  when  force 
And  falsehood  hang  even  o'er  the  cradled  babe, 
Stifling  with  rudest  grasp  all  natural  good. 

Ah  !  to  the  stranger-soul,  when  first  it  peeps 
From  its  new  tenement,  and  looks  abroad 
For  happiness  and  sympathy,  how  stern 
And  desolate  a  tract  is  this  wide  world ! 
How  withered  all  the  buds  of  natural  good  ! 
No  shade,  no  shelter  from  the  sweeping  storms 
Of  pitiless  power!     On  its  wretched  frame, 
Poisoned,  perchance,  by  the  disease  and  woe 
Heaped  on  the  wretched  parent  whence  it  sprung, 


QUEEN  MAB.  77 

By  morals,  law,  and  custom,  the  pure  winds 
Ol' heaven,  that  renovate  the  insect  tribes, 
May  breathe  not.     The  untainting  light  of  day 
May  visit  not  its  longings.     It  is  bound 
Ere  it  has  life:  yea,  all  the  chains  are  forged 
Long  ere  its  being :   all  liberty  and  love 
And  peace  is  torn  from  its  defencelessness ; 
Cursed  from  its  birth,  even  from  its  cradle  doomed 
To  abjectness  and  bondage! 

Throughout  this  varied  and  eternal  world 

Soul  is  the  only  element,  the  block 

That  for  uncounted  ages  has  remained. 

The  moveless  pillar  of  a  mountain's  weight 

Is  active,  living  spirit.     Every  grain 

Is  sentient  both  in  unity  and  part, 

And  the  minutest  atom  comprehends 

A  world  of  loves  and  hatreds  ;  these  beget 

Evil  and  good:  hence  truth  and  falsehood  spring; 

Hence  will,  and  thought,  and  action,  all  the  germs 

Of  pain  or  pleasure,  sympathy  or  hate, 

That  variegate  the  eternal  universe. 

Soul  is  not  more  polluted  than  the  beams 

Of  heaven's  pure  orb,  ere  round  their  rapid  lines 

The  taint  of  earth-born  atmospheres  arise. 

Man  is  of  soul  and  body,  formed  for  deeds 

Of  high  resolve,  on  fancy's  boldest  wing 

To  soar  unwearied,  fearlessly  to  turn 

The  keenest  pangs  to  peacefulness,  and  taste 

The  joys  which  mingled  sense  and  spirit  yield. 

Or  he  is  formed  for  abjectness  and  woe, 

To  grovel  on  the  dunghill  of  his  fears, 

To  shrink  at  every  sound,  to  quench  the  flame 

Of  natural  love  in  sensualism,  to  know 

That  hour  as  blest  when  on  his  worthless  days 

The  frozen  hand  of  death  shall  set  its  seal, 

Yet  fear  the  cure,  though  hating  the  disease. 

The  one  is  man  that  shall  hereafter  be  ; 

The  other,  man  as  vice  as  made  him  now. 

War  is  the  statesman's  game,  the  priest's  delight, 
The  lawyer's  jest,  the  hired  assassin's  trade, 
And,  to  those  royal  murderer's,  whose  mean  thrones 
Are  bought  by  crimes  of  treachery  and  gore, 
The  bread  they  eat,  the  staff  on  which  they  lean. 
Guards,  garbed  in  blood-red  livery,  surround 
Their  palaces,  participate  the  crimes 
That,  force  defends,  and  from  a  nation's  rage 
Secure  the  crown,  which  all  the  curses  roach 


78  QUEEN  MAB. 

That  famine,  frenzy,  woe  and  penury  breathe. 
These  are  the  hired  bravos  who  defend(c) 
The  tyrant's  throne — the  bullies  of  his  fear: 
These  are  the  sinks  and  channels  of  worst  vice, 
The  refuse  of  society,  the  dregs 
Of  all  that  is  most  vile  :   their  cold  hearts  blend 
Deceit  with  sternness,  ignorance  with  pride, 
All  that  is  mean  and  villanous,  with  rage 
Which  hopelessness  of  good,  and  self-contempt, 
Alone  might  kindle  ;  they  are  decked  in  wealth, 
Honour  and  power,  then  are  sent  abroad 
To  do  their  work.     The  pestilence  that  stalks 
In  gloomy  triumph  through  some  Eastern  land 
Is  less  destroying.     They  cajole  with  gold, 
And  promises  of  fame,  the  thoughtless  youth 
Already  crushed  with  servitude  :  he  knows 
His  wretchedness  too  late,  and  cherishes 
Repentance  for  his  ruin,  when  his  doom 
Is  sealed  in  gold  and  blood ! 
Those  too  the  tyrant  serve,  who  skilled  to  snare 
The  feet  of  justice  in  the  toils  of  law, 
Stand,  ready  to  oppress  the  weaker  still ; 
And,  right  or  wrong,  will  vindicate  for  gold, 
Sneering  at  public  virtue,  which  beneath 
Their  pitiless  tread  lies  torn  and  trampled,  where 
Honour  sits  smiling  at  the  sale  of  truth. 

Then  grave  aud  hoary-headed  hypocrites, 

Without  a  hope,  a  passion,  or  a  love, 

Who,  through  a  life  of  luxury  and  lies, 

Havecrept  by  flattery  to  the  seats  of  power, 

Support  the  system  whence  their  honours  flow  .... 

They  have  three  words: — well  tyrants  know  their  use, 

Well  pay  them  for  the  loan,  with  usury 

Torn  from  a  bleeding  world  ! — God,  Hell,  and  Heaven. 

A  vengeful,  pitiless,  and  almighty  fiend, 

Whose  mercy  is  a  nick- name  for  the  rage 

Of  tameless  tigers  hungering  for  blood. 

Hell,  a  red  gulf  of  everlasting  fire, 

Where  poisonous  and  undying  worms  prolong 

Eternal  misery  to  those  hapless  slaves 

Whose  life  has  been  a  penance  for  its  crimes. 

And  Heaven,  a  meed  for  those  who  dare  belie 

Their  human  nature,  quake,  believe,  and  cringe 

Before  the  mockeries  of  earthly  power. 

These  tools  the  tyrant  tempers  to  his  work, 
Wields  in  his  wrath,  and  as  he  wills,  destroys, 
Omnipotent  in  wickedness  :   the  while 
Youth  springs,  age  moulders,  manhood  tamely  does 


QUEEN  MAB.  79 

His  bidding,  bribed  by  sbort-lived  joys  to  lend 
Force  to  the  weakness  of  his  trembling  arm. 
They  rise,  thev  fall ;  one  generation  comes 
Yielding  its  harvest  to  destruction's  scythe. 
It  fades,  another  blossoms :  yet  behold  ! 
Red  glows  the  tyrant's  stamp-mark  «n  its  bloom, 
Withering  and  cankering  deep  its  passive  prime. 
He  has  invented  lying  words  and  modes, 
Empty  and  vain  as  his  own  coreless  heart; 
Evasive  meanings,  nothings  of  much  sound. 
To  lure  the  heedless  victim  to  the  toils 
Spread  round  the  valley  of  its  paradise. 

Look  to  thyself,  priest,  conqueror,  or  prince ! 

Whether  thy  trade  is  falsehood,  and  thy  lusts 

Deep  wallow  in  the  earnings  of  the  poor, 

With  whom  thy  master  was  : — or  thou  delight'st 

In  numbering  o'er  the  myriads  of  thy  slain, 

All  misery  weighing  nothing  in  the  scale 

Against  thy  short-lived  fame  :  or  thou  dost  load 

With  cowardice  and  crime  the  groaning  land, 

A  pomp-fed  king.     Look  to  thy  wretched  self! 

Aye,  art  thou  not  the  veriest  slave  that  e'er 

Crawled  on  the  loathing  earth  ?     Are  not  thy  days 

Days  of  unsatisfying  listlessness? 

Dost  thou  not  cry,  ere  night's  long  rack  is  o'er, 

When  will  the  morning  come  ?      Is  not  thy  youth 

A  vain  and  feverish  dream  of  sensualism  ? 

Thy  manhood  blighted  with  unripe  disease? 

Are  not  thy  views  of  unregretted  death 

Drear,  comfortless,  and  horrible  ?     Thy  mind, 

Is  it  not  morbid  as  thy  nerveless  frame, 

Incapable  of  judgment,  hope,  or  love? 

And  dost  thou  wish  the  e;rors  to  survive 

That  bar  thee  from  all  sympathies  of  good, 

After  the  miserable  interest 

Thou  hold'st  in  their  protraction?     When  the  grave 

Has  swallowed  up  thy  memory  and  thyself, 

Dost  thou  desire  the  bane  that  poisons  earth 

To  twine  its  roots  around  thy  coffined  clay, 

Spring  from  thy  bones,  and  blossom  on  thy  tomb, 

That  of  its  fruit  thy  babes  may  eat  and  die  ? 

V. 

Thus  do  the  generations  of  the  earth  (d) 
Go  to  the  grave,  and  issue  from  the  womb, 
Surviving  still  the  imperishable  change 
That  renovates  the  world;  even  as  the  leaves («) 
Which  the  keen  frost-wind  of  the  waning  year 


QUEEN  MAB. 

Has  scattered  on  the  forest  soil,  and  heaped 
For  many  seasons  there,  though  long  they  choke, 
Loading  with  loathsome  rottenness  the  land, 
All  germs  of  promise.     Yet,  when  the  tall  trees 
From  which  they  fell,  shorn  of  their  lovely  shapes, 
Lie  level  with  the  earth  to  moulder  there, 
They  fertilize  the  land  they  once  deformed, 
Till  from  the  breathing  lawn  a  forest  springs 
Of  youth,  intregrity,  and  loveliness  ; 
Like  that  which  gave  it  life,  to  spring  and  die. 
Thus  suicidal  selfishness,  that  blights 
The  fairest  feelings  of  the  opening  heart, 
Is  destined  to  decay,  whilst  from  the  soil 
Shall  spring  all  virtue,  all  delight,  all  love, 
And  judgment  cease  to  wage  unnatural  war 
With  passion's  unsubduable  airay. 

Twin-sister  of  religion,  selfishness! 
Rival  in  crime  and  falsehood,  aping  all 
The  wanton  horrors  of  her  bloody  play; 
Yet  frozen,  unimpassioned,  spiritless, 
Shunning  the  light,  and  owning  not  its  name; 
Compelled,  by  its  deformity,  to  screen 
With  flimsy  veil  of  justice  and  of  right, 
Its  unattractive  lineaments,  that  scare 
All,  save  the  brood  of  ignorance :  at  once 
The  cause  and  the  effect  of  tyranny ; 
Unblushing,  hardened,  sensual,  and  vile ; 
Dead  to  all  love  but  of  itsabjectness, 
With  heart  impassive  by  more  noble  powers 
Than  unshared  pleasure,  sordid  gain,  or  fame ; 
Despising  its  own  miserable  being, 
Which  still  it  longs,  yet  fears  to  disenthrall. 

Hence  commerce  springs,  the  venal  interchange 

Of  all  that  human  art  or  nature  yield  ; 

Which  wealth  should  purchase  not,  but  want  demand, 

And  natural  kindness  hasten  to  supply 

From  the  full  fountain  of  its  boundless  love, 

For  ever  stifled,  drained,  and  tainted  now. 

Commerce !  beneath  whose  poison-breathing  shade 

No  solitary  virtue  dares  to  spring, 

But  poverty  and  wealth  with  equal  hand 

Scatter  their  withering  curses,  and  unfold 

The  doors  of  premature  and  violent  death, 

To  pining  famine  and  full-fed  disease, 

To  all  that  shares  the  lot  of  human  life, 

Which  poisoned  body  and  soul,  scarce  drags  the  chain 

That  lengthens  as  it  goes  and  clanks  behind. 


QUEEN  MA.B.  81 

Commerce  has  set  the  mark  of  selfishness, 

The  signet  of  its  all-enslaving  power, 

Upon  a  shining  ore,  and  called  it  gold: 

Before  whose  image  how  the  vulgar  great, 

The  vainly  rich,  the  miserable  proud, 

The  mob  of  peasants,  nobles,  priests,  and  kings,  (/) 

And  with  blind  feelings  reverence  the  power 

That  grinds  them  to  the  dust  of  misery. 

But  in  the  temple  of  their  hireling  hearts 

Gold  is  a  living  god,  and  rules  in  scorn 

All  earthly  things  but  virtue. 

Since  tyrants,  by  the  sale  of  human  life, 
Heap  luxuries  to  their  sensualism,  and  fame 
To  their  wide-wasting  and  insatiate  pride, 
Success  has  sanctioned  to  a  credulous  world 
The  ruin,  the  disgrace,  the  woe  of  war. 
His  hosts  of  blind  and  unresisting  dupes 
The  despot  numbers;  from  his  cabinet 
These  puppets  of  his  schemes  he  moves  at  will, 
Even  as  the  slaves  by  force  or  famine  driven, 
Beneath  a  vulgar  master,  to  perform 
A  task  of  cold  and  brutal  drudgery; — 
Hardened  to  hope,  insensible  to  fear, 
Scarce  living  pullies  of  a  dead  machine, 
Mere  wheels  of  work  and  articles  of  trade, 
That  grace  the  proud  and  noisy  pomp  of  wealth ! 

The  harmony  and  happiness  of  man 

Yields  to  the  wealth  of  nations  ;  that  which  lifts 

His  nature  to  the  heaven  of  its  pride, 

Is  bartered  for  the  poison  of  his  soul; 

The  weight  that  drags  to  earth  his  towering  hopes, 

Blighting  all  prospect  but  of  selfish  gain. 

Withering  all  passion  but  of  slavish  fear, 

Extinguishing  all  free  and  generous  love 

Of  enterprise  and  daring,  even  the  pulse 

That  fancy  kindles  in  the  beating  heart 

To  mingle  with  sensation,  it  destroys, — 

Leaves  nothing  but  the  sordid  lust  of  self, 

The  grovelling  hope  of  interest  and  gold, 

Unqualified,  unmingled,  unredeemed, 

Even  by  hypocrisy. 

And  statesmen  boast 
Of  wealth  !  (.?)     The  wordy  eloquence  that  lives 
After  the  ruin  of  their  hearts,  can  gild 
The  bitter  poison  of  a  nation's  woe, 
Can  turn  the  worship  of  the  servile  mob 
To  their  corrupt  and  glaring  idol  Fame, 
8 


82  QUEEN  MAB. 

From  Virtue,  trampled  by  its  iron  tread, 

Although  its  dazzling  pedestal  be  raised 

Amid  the  horrors  of  a  limb-strewn  field, 

With  desolated  dwellings  smoking  round. 

The  man  of  ease,  who,  by  his  warm  fire-side, 

To  deeds  of  charitable  intercourse 

And  bare  fulfilment  of  the  common  laws 

Of  decency  and  prejudice,  confines 

The  struggling  nature  of  his  human  heart, 

Is  duped  by  their  cold  sophistry;  he  sheds 

A  passing  tear  perchance  npon  the  wreck 

Of  earthly  peace,  when  near  his  dwelling's  door 

The  frightful  waves  are  driven, — when  his  son 

Is  murdered  by  the  tyrant,  or  religion(A) 

Drives  his  wife  raving  mad.     But  the  poor  man. 

Whose  life  is  misery,  and  fear,  and  care  ; 

Whom  the  morn  wakens  but  to  fruitless  toil ; 

Who  ever  hears  his  famished  offspring  scream, 

Whom  their  pale  mother's  uncomplaining  gaze 

For  ever  meets,  and  the  proud  rich  man's  eye 

Flashing  command,  and  the  heart-breaking  scene 

Of  thousands   like  himself ; — he  little  heeds 

The  rhetoric  of  tyranny;  his  hate 

Is  quenchless  as  his  wrongs ;  he  laughs  to  scorn 

The  vain  and  bitter  mockery  of  words, 

Feeling  the  horror  of  the  tyrant's  deeds, 

And  unrestrained  but  by  the  arm  of  power, 

That  knows  and  dreads  his  enmity, 

The  iron  rod  of  penury  still  compels 

Her  wretched  slave  to  bow  the  knee  to  wealth, 

And  poison,  with  unprofitable  toil, 

A  life  too  void  of  solace  to  confirm 

The  very  chains  that  bind  him  to  his  doom. 

Nature,  impartial  in  munifience, 

Has  gifted  man  with  all-subduing  will : 

Matter,  with  all  its  transitory  shapes, 

Lies  subjected  and  plastic  at  his  feet, 

That,  weak  from  bondage,  tremble  as  they  tread. 

How  many  a  rustic  Milton  has  past  by, 

Stifling  the  speechless  longings  of  his  heart. 

In  unremitting  drudgery  and  care! 

How  many  a  vulgar  Cato  has  compelled 

His  energies,  no  longer  tameless  then, 

To  mould  a  pin,  or  fabricate  a  nail ! 

How  many  a  Newton,  of  whose  passive  ken 

Those  mighty  spheres  that  gem  infinity 

Were  only  specks  of  tinsel,  fixed  in  heaven 

To  light  the  midnights  of  his  native  town  I 


QUEEN  MAB.  83 

Yet  every  heart  contains  perfection's  germ : 
The  wisest  of  the  sages  of  the  earth, 
That  ever  from  the  stores  of  reason  drew 
Science  and  truth,  and  virtue's  dreadless  tone, 
Were  but  a  weak  and  inexperienced  boy, 
Proud,  sensual,  unimpassioned,  unimbued 
With  pure  desire  a  universal  love 
Compared  to  that  high  being,  of  cloudless  brain, 
Untainted  passion,  elevated  will, 
Which  death  (who  even  would  linger  long  in  awe 
Within  his  noble  presence,  and  beneath 
His  changeless  eye-beam,)  might  alone  subdue. 
Him,  every  slave  now  dragging  though  the  filth 
Of  some  corrupted  city  his  sad  life, 
Pining  with  famine,  swoln  with  luxury, 
Blunting  the  keenness  of  his  spiritual  sense 
With  narrow  schemings  and  unworthy  cares, 
Or  madly  rushing  through  all  violont  crime, 
To  move  the  deep  stagnation  of  hid  Suul, — 
Might  imitate  and  ecjual. 

But  mean  lust 
Has  bound  its  chains  so  tight  around  the  earth, 
That  all  within  it  but  the  virtuous  man 
Is  venal :  gold  or  fame  will  surely  reach 
The  price  prefixed  by  selfishness,  to  all 
But  him  of  resolute  and  unchanging  will ; 
Whom,  nor  the  plaudits  of  a  servile  crowd, 
Nor  the  vile  joys  of  tainting  luxury, 
Can  bribe  to  yield  his  elevated  soul 
To  tyranny  or  falsehood,  though  they  wield 
With  blood-red  hand  the  sceptre  of  the  world. 

All  things  are  sold :  the  very  light  of  heaven 

Is  venal ;  earth's  unsparing  gifts  of  love, 

The  smallest  and  most  despicable  things 

That  lurk  in  the  abysses  of  the  deep, 

All  objects  of  our  life,  even  life  itself, 

And  the  poor  pittance  which  the  laws  allow 

Of  liberty,  the  fellowship  of  man, 

Those  duties  which  his  heart  of  human  love 

Should  urge  him  to  perform  instinctively, 

Are  bought  and  sold  as  in  a  public  mart 

Of  undisguising  selfishness,  that  sets 

On  each  its  price,  the  stamp-mark  of  her  reign. 

Even  love  (i)  is  sold ;  the  solace  of  all  woe 

Is  turned  to  deadliest  agony,  old  age 

Shivers  in  selfish  beauty's  loathing  arms, 

And  youfli's  corrupted  impulses  prepare 

A  life  of  horror  from  the  blighting  bane 


84  QUEEN  MAB. 

Of  commerce:  whilst  the  pestilence  that  springs 
From  unenjoying  sensualism,  has  filled 
All  human  life  with  hydra-headed  woes. 

Falsehood  demands  but  gold  to  pay  the  pangs 

Of  outraged  coflscience  ;  for  the  slavish  priest 

Sets  no  great  value  on  his  hireling-  faith  : 

A  little  passing  pomp,  some  servile  souls 

Whom  cowardice  itself  might  safely  chain, 

Or  the  spare  mite  of  avarice  could  bribe 

To  deck  the  triumph  of  their  languid  zeal, 

Can  make  him  minister  to  tyranny. 

More  daring  crime  requires  a  loftier  meed  : 

Without  a  shudder  the  slave-soldier  lends 

His  arm  to  murderous  deeds,  and  steels  his  heart, 

When  the  dread  eloquence  of  dying  men, 

Low  mingling  on  the  lonely  field  of  fame, 

Assails  that  nature,  whose  applause  he  sells 

For  the  gross  blessings  of  the  patriot  mob, 

For  the  vile  gratitude  of  heartless  kings, 

And  for  a  cold  world's  good  word, — viler  still ! 

There  is  a  nobler  glory,  which  survives 

Until  our  being  fades,  and,  solacing 

All  human  care,  accompanies  its  change  ; 

Deserts  not  the  virtue  in  the  dungeon's  gloom, 

And  in  the  precincts  of  the  palace,  guides 

Its  footsteps  through  that  labyrinth  of  crime ; 

Imbues  his  lineaments  with  dauntlessness, 

Even  when,  from  power's  avenging  hand,  he  takes 

Its  sweetest,  last,  and  noblest  title — death  ; 

— The  consciousness  of  good,  which  neither  gold, 

Nor  sordid  fame,  nor  hope  of  heavenly  bliss, 

Can  purchase ;  but  a  life  of  resolute  good, 

Unalterable  will,  quenchless  desire 

Of  universal  happiness,  the  heart 

That  beats  with  it  in  unison,  the  brain, 

Whose  ever  wakeful  wisdom  toils  to  change 

Reason's  rich  stores  for  its  eternal  weal. 

This  commerce  of  sincerest  virtue  needs 
No  mediative  signs  of  selfishness 
No  jealous  intercourse  of  wretched  gain, 
No  balancings  of  prudence,  cold  and  long ; 
In  just  and  equal  measure  all  is  weighed, 
One  scale  contains  the  sum  of  human  weal, 
And  one,  the  good  man's  heart. 

How  vainly  seek 
The  selfish  for  that  happiness  denied 


QUEEN  MAB.  85 

To  aught  but  virtue !     Blind  and  hardened,  they, 
Who  hope  for  peace  amid  the  storms  of  care, 
Who  covet  power  they  know  not  how  to  use, 
And  sigh  for  pleasure  they  refuse  to  give  ; — 
Madly  they  frustrate  still  their  own  designs; 
And,  where  they  hope  that  quiet  to  enjoy 
Which  virtue  pictures,  bitterness  of  soul, 
Pining  regrets,  and  vain  repentances, 
Disease,  disgust,  and  lassitude,  pervade 
Their  valueless  and  miserable  lives. 

But  hoary-headed  selfishness  has  felt 

Its  death-blow,  and  is  tottering  to  the  grave : 

A  brighter  morn  awaits  the  human  day, 

When  every  transfer  of  earth's  natural  gifts 

Shall  be  a  commerce  of  good  words  and  works; 

When  poverty  and  wealth,  the  thirst  of  fame, 

The  fear  of  infamy,  disease,  and  woe, 

War,  with  its  million  horrors,  and  fierce  hell, 

Shall  live  but  in  the  memory  of  time, 

Who,  like  a  penitent  libertine,  shall  start, 

Look  back,  and  shudder  at  his  younger  years. 


All  touch,  all  eye,  all  ear, 
The  Spirit  felt  the  Fairy's  burning  speech. 

O'er  the  thin  texture  of  its  frame, 
The  varying  periods  painted  changing  glows; 

As  on  a  summer  even, 
When  soul-enf  deling  music  floats  around, 
The  stainless  mirror  of  the  lake 
Re-images  the  eastern  gloom, 
Mingling  convulsively  its  purple  hues 
With  sunset's  burnished  gold. 

Then  thus  the  Spirit  spoke : 

It  is  a  wild  and  miserable  world ! 

Thorny,  and  full  of  care, 
WThich  every  fiend  can  make  his  prey  at  will. 
O  Fairy!  in  the  lapse  of  years, 
Is  there  no  hope  in  store  ? 
Will  yon  vast  suns  roll  on 
Interminably,  still  illumining 
The  night  of  so  many  wretched  souls, 
And  see  no  hope  for  them  1 
Will  not  the  universal  Spirit  e'er 
Revivify  this  withered  limb  of  Heaven  t 

The  Fairy  calmly  smiled 
8* 


86  QUEEN  MAB. 

In  comfort,  and  a  kindling  gleam  of  hope 

Suffused  the  spirits  lineaments. 
Oh  !  rest  thee  tranquil ;  chase  those  fearful  doubta, 
Which  ne'er  could  rack  an  everlasting  soul, 
That  sees  the  chains  which  bind  it  to  its  doom. 
Yes!  crime  and  misery  are  in  yonder  earth, 
Falsehood,  mistake,  and  lust ; 
But  the  eternal  world 
Contains  at  once  the  evil  and  the  cure. 
Some  eminent  in  virtue  shall  start  up, 

Even  in  perversest  time  ; 
The  truths  of  their  pure  lips,  that  never  die, 
Shall  bind  the  scorpion  falsehood  with  a  wreath 

Of  ever-living  flame, 
Until  the  monster  sting  itself  to  death. 

How  sweet  a  scene  will  earth  become ! 
Of  purest  spirits,  a  pure  dwelling-place, 
Symphonious  with  the  planetary  spheres; 
When  man  with,  changeless  nature  coalescing, 
Will  undertake  regeneration's  work, 
When  its  ungenial  poles  no  longer  point 
To  the  red  and  baleful  sun  (k) 
That  faintly  twinkles  there. 

Spirit,  on  yonder  earth, 
Falsehood  now  triumphs  ;  deadly  power 
Has  fixed  its  seal  upon  the  lip  of  truth  ! 

Madness  and  misery  are  there ! 
The  happiest  is  most  wretched !  yet  confide 
Until  pure  health-drops,  from  the  cup  ot  joy 
Fall  like  a  dew  of  balm  upon  the  world. 
Now,  to  the  scene  I  shew,  in  silence  turn, 
And  read  the  blood-stained  charter  of  all  woe, 
Which  nature  soon,  with  re-creating  hand, 
Will  blot  in  mercy  from  the  book  of  earth. 
How  bold  the  flight  of  passion's  wandering  wing, 
How  swift  the  step  of  reason's  firmer  tread 
How  calm  and  sweet  the  victories  of  life, 
How  terrorless  the  triumph  of  the  grave  ! 
How  powerless  were  the  mightest  monarch's  arm, 
Vain  his  loud  threat,  and  impotent  his  frown ! 
How  ludicrous  the  priests  dogmatic  roar  ! 
The  weight  of  his  exterminating  curse, 
How  light !  and  his  affected  charity, 
To  suit  the  pressure  of  the  changing  times, 
What  palpable  deceit ! — but  for  thy  aid, 
Religion  !  bnt  for  thee,  prolific  fiend, 
Who  peoplest  earth  with  demons,  hell  with  men, 
And  heaven  with  slaves  ! 


QUEEN  MAB.  87 

Thou  taintest  all  thou  look'st  upon  ! — the  stars, 

Which  on  thy  cradle  beamed  so  brightly  sweet, 

Were  gods  to  the  distempered  playfulness 

Of  thy  untutored  infancy  :  the  trees, 

The  grass,  the  clouds,  the  mountains,  and  the  sea, 

All  living  things  that  walk,  swim,  creep,  or  fly, 

Were  gods  :  the  sun  had  homage,  and  the  moon 

Her  worshipper.     Then  thou  becamest  a  boy, 

More  daring  in  thy  frenzies:  every  shape, 

Monstrous  or  vast,  or  beautifully  wild, 

Which,  from  sensation's  relics,  fancy  culls  ; 

The  spirits  of  the  air,  the  shuddering  ghost, 

The  genii  of  the  elements,  the  powers 

That  give  a  shape  to  nature's  varied  works, 

Had  life  and  place  in  the  corrupt  belief 

Of  thy  blind  heart;  yet  still  thy  youthful  hands 

Were  pure  of  human  blood.     Then  manhood  gave 

Its  strength  and  ardour  to  thy  frenzied  brain ; 

Thine  eager  gaze  scanned  the  stupendous  scene, 

Whose  wonders  mocked  the  knowledege  of  thy  pride ; 

Their  everlasting  and  unchanging  laws 

Reproached  thine  ignorance.     Awhile  thou  stoodst 

Baffled  and  gloomy ;  then  thou  didst  sum  up 

The  elements  of  all  that  thou  didst  know ; 

The  changing  seasons,  winter's  leafless  reign, 

The  budding  of  the  heaven-breathing  trees, 

The  eternal  orbs  that  beautify  the  night, 

The  sun-rise,  and  the  setting  of  the  moon, 

Earthquakes  and  wars,  and  poisons  and  disease, 

And  all  their  causes,  to  an  abstract  point, 

Converging,  thou  didst  bend,  and  callqgkit  God  ! 

The  self-sufficing,  the  omnipotent, 

The  merciful,  and  the  avenging  God  ! 

Who,  prototype  of  human  misrule,  sits 

High  in  heaven's  realm,  upon  a  golden  throne, 

Even  like  an  earthly  king ;  and  whose  dread  work, 

Hell,  gapes  for  ever  for  the  unhappy  slaves 

Of  fate,  whom  he  created  in  his  sport, 

To  triumph  in  their  torments  when  they  fell ! 

Earth  heard  the  name ;  earth  trembled,  as  the  smoke 

Of  his  revenge  ascended  up  to  heaven, 

Blotting  the  constellations  ;  and  the  cries 

Of  millions  butchered  in  sweet  confidence 

And  unsuspecting  peace,  even  when  the  bonds 

Of  safety  were  confirmed  by  wordy  oaths 

Sworn  in  his  dreadful  name,  rung  through  the- land; 

Whilst  innocent  babes  writhed  on  thy  stubborn  spear, 

And  thou  didst  laugh  to  hear  the  mother's  shriek 

Of  maniac  gladness,  as  the  sacred  steel 

Felt  cold  in  her  torn  entrails ! 


88  QUEEN.  MAB. 

Religion  !  thou  wert  then  in  manhood's  prime ; 

But  age  crept  on:  one  God  would  not  suffice 

For  senile  puerility;  thou  framedst 

A  tale  to  suit  thy  dotage,  and  to  glut 

Thy  misery-thirsting  soul,  that  the  mad  fiend 

Thy  wickedness  had  pictured,  might  afford 

A  plea  for  sating  the  unnatural  thirst 

For  murder,  rapine,  violence,  and  crime, 

That  still  consumed  thy  being,  even  when 

Thou  heardst  the  step  of  fate  ;  that  flames  might  light 

Thy  funeral  scene,  and  the  shrill  horrid  shrieks 

Of  parents  dying  on  the  pile  that  burned 

To  light  their  children  to  thy  paths,  the  roar 

Of  the  encircling  flames,  the  exulting  cries 

Of  thine  apostles,  loud  commingling  there, 

Might  sate  thine  hungry  ear 

Even  on  the  bed  of  death  ! 
But  now  contempt  is  mocking  thy  grey  hairs ; 
Thou  art  descending  to  the  darksome  grave, 
Unhonoured  and  unpitied,  but  by  those 
Whose  pride  is  passing  by  like  thine,  and  sheds, 
Like  thine,  a  glare  that  fades  before  the  sun 
Ox  truth,  and  shines  but  in  the  dreadful  night 
That  long  has  lowered  above  the  ruined  world. 

Throughout  these  infinite  orbs  of  mingling  light, 

Of  which  yon  earth  is  one,  is  wide  diffused 

A  spirit  of  activity  and  life, 

That  knows  no  term,  cessation,  or  decay; 

That  fades  not  when  the  lamp  of  earthly  life, 

Extinguished  in  the  dampness  o  fihe  grave, 

Awhile  there  slumbers,  more  than  when  the  babe 

In  the  dim  newness  of  its  being  feels 

The  impulses  of  sublunary  things, 

And  all  is  wonder  to  unpractised  sense  : 

But  active,  steadfast,  and  eternal,  still 

Guides  the  fierce  whirlwind,  in  the  tempest  roars, 

Cheers  in  the  day,  breathes  in  the  balmy  groves, 

Strengthens  in  health,  and  poisons  in  disease  ; 

And  in  the  storm  of  change,  that  ceaselessly 

Rolls  round  the  eternal  universe,  and  shakes 

Its  undecaying  battlement,  presides, 

Apportioning  with  irresistible  law 

The  place  each  spring  of  its  machine  shall  fill; 

So  that,  when  waves  on  waves  tumultuous  heap 

Confusion  to  the  clouds,  and  fiercely  driven 

Heaven's  lightnings  scorch  the  up-rooted  ocean-fords, 

Whilst,  to  the  eye  of  shipwrecked  mariner, 

Lone  sitting  on  the  bare  and  shuddering  rock, 

All  seems  unlinked  contingency  and  chance : 


QUEEN  MAB.  89 

No  atom  of  this  turbulence  fulfils  (/) 

A  vague-and  unnecessitated  task, 

Or  acts  but  as  it  must  and  ought  to  act. 

Even  the  minutest  molecule  of  light, 

That  in  an  April  sun-beam's  fleeting  glow, 

Fulfils  its  destined,  though  invisible  work, 

The  universal  Spirit  guides ;  nor  less 

When  merciless  ambition,  or  mad  zeal, 

Has  led  two  hosts  of  dupes  to  battle-field, 

That,  blind,  they  there  may  dig  each  other's  graves, 

And  call  the  sad  work  glory,  does  it  rule 

All  passions  :  not  a  thought,  a  will,  an  act, 

No  working  of  the  tyrant's  moody  mind, 

Nor  one  misgiving  of  the  slaves  who  boast 

Their  servitude,  to  hide  the  shame  they  feel, 

Nor  the  events  enchaining  every  will, 

That  from  the  depths  of  unrecorded  time 

Have  drawn  all-influencing  virtue,  pass 

Unrecognised,  or  unforeseen  by  thee, 

Soul  of  the  Universe  !  eternal  spring 

Of  life  and  death,  of  happiness  and  woe, 

Of  all  that  chequers  the  phantasmal  scene 

That  floats  before  our  eyes  in  wavering  light, 

Which  gleams  but  on  the  darkness  of  our  prison, 

Whose  chains  and  massy  walls 

We  feel,  but  cannot  see. 

Spirit  of  Nature  !  all  sufficing  Power, 

Necessity!  ('»)  thou  mother  of  the  world! 

Unlike  the,  God  of  human  error,  thou 

Requirest  no  prayers  or  praises  ;  the  caprice 

Of  Man's  weak  will  belongs  no  more  to  thee 

Than  do  the  changeful  passions  of  his  breast 

To  thy  unvarying  harmony :  the  slave, 

Whose  horrible  lusts  spread  misery  o'er  the  world, 

And  the  good  man,  who  lifts,  with  virtuous  pride, 

His  being,  in  the  sight  of  happiness, 

That  springs  from  his  own  works ;  the  poison-tree, 

Beneath  whose  shade  all  life  is  withered  up, 

And  the  fair  oak,  whose  leafy  dome  affords 

A  temple  where  the  vows  of  happy  love 

Are  legister'd,  are  equal  in  thy  sight: 

No  love,  no  hate  thou  cherishest ;  revenge, 

And  favouritism,  and  worst  desire  of  fame, 

Thou  knowest  not:  all  that  the  wide  world  contains, 

Are  but  thy  passive  instruments,  and  thou 

llegard'st  them  all  with  an  impartial  eye, 

Whose  joy  or  pain  thy  nature  cannot  feel, 

Because  thou  hast  not  human  sense, 

Because  thou  art  not  human  mind. 


90  QUEEN  MAB. 

Yes  !  when  the  sweeping  storm  of  time 
Has  sung  its  death-dirge  o'er  the  ruined  fanes 
And  broken  altars  of  the  Almighty  fiend 
Whose  name  usurps  thy  honours,  and  the  blood, 
Through  centuries  clotted  there,  has  floated  down 
The  tainted  flood  of  ages,  shalt  thou  live 
Unchangeable  !  A  shrine  is  raised  to  thee, 

Which,  nor  the  tempest-breath  of  time, 

Nor  the  interminable  flood, 

Over  earth's  slight  pageant,  rolling, 
Availeth  to  destroy, — 
The  sensitive  extension  of  the  world. 

That  wondrous  and  eternal  fane, 
Where  pain  and  pleasure,  good  and  evil  join, 
To  do  the  will  of  strong  necessity, 

And  life  in  multitudinous  shapes, 
Still  pressing  forward  where  no  term  can  be, 

Like  hungry  and  unresting  flame 
Curls  round  the  eternal  columns  of  its  strength. 


Spirit.  I  was  an  infant  when  my  mother  went 
To  see  an  atheist  burned.     She  took  me  there : 
The  dark-robed  priests  were  met.  around  the  pile; 
The  multitude  was  gazing  silently; 
And  assthe  culprit  passed  with  dauntless  mien, 
Tempered  disdain  in  his  unaltering  eye, 
Mixed  with  a  quiet  smile,  shone  calmly  forth  : 
The  thirsty  fire  crept  round  his  manly  limbs; 
His  resolute  eyes  were  scorched  to  blindness  soon  ; 
His  death-pang  rent  my  heart !  the  insensate  mob 
Uttered  a  cry  of  triumph,  and  I  wept. 
Weep  not,  child !  cried  my  mother,  for  that  man 
Has  said,  There  is  no  God.  (n) 

Fairy.  There  is  no  God ! 

Nature  confirms  the  faith  his  death-groan  seal'd : 
Let  heaven  and  earth,  let  man's  revolving  race, 
His  ceaseless  generations,  tell  their  tale; 
Let  every  part  depending  on  the  chain 
That  links  it  to  the  whole,  point  to  the  hand 
That  grasps  its  term  !   Let  every  seed  that  falls, 
In  silent  eloquence  unfold  its  store 
Of  argument:  infinity  within, 
Infinity  without,  belie  creation; 
The  exterminable  spirit  it  contains; 
Is  nature's  only  God  ;  but  human  pride 
Is  skilful  to  invent  most  serious  names 
To  hide  its  ignorance. 


QUEEN  MAB,  91 

The  name  of  God ! 
Has  fenced  about  all  crime  with  holiness, 
Himself  the  creature  of  his  worshippers, 
Whose  names  and  attributes  and  passions  change, 
Seeva,  Buddh,  Fob,  Jehovah,  God,  or  Lord, 
Even  with  the  human  dupes  who  build  his  shrines, 
Still  serving  o'er  the  war-polluted  world 
For  desolation's  watch-word  ;  whether  hosts 
Stain  his  death-blushing  chariot-wheels,  as  on 
Triumphantly  they  roll,  whilst  Brahmins  raise 
A  sacred  hymn  to  mingle  with  the  groans  ; 
Or  countless  partners  of  his  power  divide 
His  tyranny  to  weakness ;  or  the  smoke 
Of  burning  towns,  the  cries  of  female  helplessness, 
Unarmed  old  age,  and  youth,  and  infancy, 
Horribly  massacred,  ascend  to  heaven 
In  honour  of  his  name  ;  or,  last  and  worst, 
Earth  groans  beneath  religion's  iron  age, 
And  priests  dare  babble  of  a  God  of  peace, 
Even  whilst  their  hands  are  red  with  guiltless  blood, 
Murdering  the  while,  uprooting  every  germ 
Of  truth,  exterminating,    spoiling  all, 
Making  the  earth  a  slaughter-house  ! 

O  Spirit !  through  the  sense 
By  which  thy  inner  nature  was  apprised 

Of  outward  shows,  vague  dreams  have  roll'd, 
And  varied  reminiscences  have  waked 

Tablets  that  never  fade : 
All  things  have  been  imprinted  there — • 
The  stars,  the  sea,  the  earth,  the  sky, 
Even  the  unshapeliest  lineaments 
Of  wild  and  fleeting  visions 
Have  left  a  record  there 
To  testify  of  earth. 

These  are  my  empire,  for  to  me  is  given 
The  wonders  of  the  human  world  to  keep, 
And  fancy's  thin  creations  to  endow 
With  manner,  being,  and  reality ; 
Therefore  a  wondrous  phantom,  from  the  dreams 
Of  human  error's  dense  and'purblind  faith, 
I  will  evoke,  to  meet  thy  questioning. 
Ahasuerus,  rise !  (°) 

A  strange  and  woe-worn  wight 
Arose  beside  the  battlement, 
And  stood  unmoving  there. 
His  inessential  figure  cast  no  shade 
Upon  the  golden  floor; 


92  QUEEN  MAB. 

His  port  and  mien  bore  mark  of  many  years, 
And  chronicles  of  untold  ancientness 
Were  legible  within  his  beamless  eye: 

Yet  his  cheek  bore  the  mark  of  youth; 
Freshness  and  vigour  knit  his  manly  frame  ; 
The  wisdom  of  old  age  was  mingled  there 

With  youth's  primaeval  dauntlessness  ; 
And  inexpressible  woe, 
Chasten'd  by  fearless  resignation,  gave 
An  awful  grace  to  his  all-speaking  brow. 

Spirit.  Is  there  a  God  ? 

Ahasuerus.  Is  there  a  God ! — ay,  an  almighty  God, 
And  vengeful  as  almighty  !   Once  his  voice 
Was  heard  on  earth  :  earth  shudder'd  at  the  sound  ; 
The  fiery-visaged  firmament  express' d 
Abhorrence,  and  the  grave  of  nature  yawn'd 
To  swallow  all  the  dauntless  and  the  good 
That  dared  to  hurl  defiance  at  his  throne, 
Girt  as  it  was  with  power.     None  but  slaves 
Survived, — cold-blooded  slaves,  who  did  the  work 
Of  tyrannous  omnipotence  ;  whose  souls 
No  honest  indignation  ever  urged 
To  elevated  daring,  to  one  deed 
Which  gross  and  sensual  self  did  not  pollute. 
These  slaves  built  temples  for  the  omnipotent  fiend, 
Gorgeous  and  vast :  the  costly  altars  smoked 
With  human  blood,  and  hideous  paeans  rung 
Through  all  the  long-drawn  aisles.     A  murderer  heard 
His  voice  in  Egypt,  one  whose  gifts  and  arts 
Had  raised  him  to  his  eminence  in  power, 
Accomplice  of  omnipotence  in  crime, 
And  confidant  of  the  all-knowing  one. 
These  were  Jehovah's  words. 

From  an  eternity  of  idleness 

I,  God,  awoke :  in  seven  days'  toil  made  earth 

From  nothing  ;  rested,  and  created  man  : 

I  placed  him  in  a  paradise,  and  there 

Planted  the  tree  of  evil,  so  that  he 

Might  eat  and  perish,  and  my  soul  procure 

Wherewith  to  sate  its  malice,  and  to  turn, 

Even  like  a  heartless  conqueror  of  the  earth, 

All  misery  to  my  fame.     The  race  of  men, 

Chosen  to  my  honour,  with  impunity 

May  sate  the  lusts  I  planted  in  their  heart. 

Here  I  command  thee  hence  to  lead  them  on, 

Until,  with  harden'd  feet,  their  conquering  troops 

Wade  on  the  promised  soil  through  woman's  blood, 

And  make  my  name  be  dreaded  through  the  land. 


QUEEN  MAB. 

Yet — ever  burning  flame  and  ceaseless  woe 
Shall  be  the  doom  of  their  eternal  souls, 
With  every  soul  on  this  ungrateful  earth, 
Virtuous  or  vicious,  weak  or  strong, — even  all 
Shall  perish,  to  fulfil  the  blind  revenge 
(Which  you.to  men,  call  justice)  of  their  God. 

The  murderer's  brow 
Quiver' d  with  horror. 

God  omnipotent, 
Is  there  no  mercy?  must  our  punishment 
Be  endless  ?  will  long  ages  roll  away, 
And  see  no  term  ?   Oh  !  wherefore  hast  thou  made 
In  mockery  and  wrath  this  evil  earth  ? 
Mercy  becomes  the  powerful — be  but  just: 

0  God  !  repent  and  save. 

One  way  remains : 

1  will  beget  a  son,  and  he  shall  bear  (p) 
The  sins  of  all  the  world  ;  he  shall  arise 
In  an  unnoticed  corner  of  the  earth, 

And  there  shall  die  npon  a  cross,  and  purge 

The  universal  crime ;  so  that  the  few 

On  whom  my  grace  descends,  those  who  are  mark'd 

As  vessels  to  the  honour  of  their  God, 

May  credit  this  strange  sacrifice,  and  save 

Their  souls  alive  :  millions  shall  live  and  die, 

Who  ne'er  shall  call  upon  their  Saviour's  name, 

But,  unredeemed,  go  to  the  gaping  grave. 

Thousands  shall  deem  it  an  old  woman's  tale, 

Such  as  the  nurses  frighten  babes  withal : 

These  in  a  gulph  of  anguish  and  of  flame 

Shall  curse  their  reprobation  endlessly, 

Yet  tenfold  pangs  shall  force  them  to  avow, 

Even  on  their  beds  of  torment,  where  they  howl, 

My  honour,  and  the  justice  of  their  doom. 

What  then  avail  their  virtuous  deeds,  their  thoughts 

Of  purity,  with  radiant  genius  bright, 

Or  lit  with  human  reason's  earthly  ray? 

Many  are  called,  but  few  will  I  elect. 

Do  thou  my  bidding,  Moses ! 

Even  the  murderer's  cheek 
Was  blanched  with  horror,  and  his  quivering  lips 
Scarce  faintly  uttered — O  Almighty  one, 
I  tremble  and  obey ' 

O  Spirit !  centuries  have  set  their  seal 
On  this  heart  of  many  wounds,  and  loaded  brain, 
Since  the  incarnate  came  :  humbly  he  came. 
Veiling  his  horrible  Godhead  in  the  shape 
9 


04  QUEEN  MAB. 

Of  man,  scorned  by  the  world,  his  name  unheard, 

Save  by  the  rabble  of  his  native  town, 

Even  as  a  parish  demagogue.     He  led 

The  crowd :  he  taught  them  justice,  truth,  and  peace, 

In  semblance ;  but  he  lit  within  their  souls 

The  quenchless  flames  of  zeal,  and  blest  the  sword 

He  brought  on  earth  to  satiate  with  the  blood 

Of  truth  and  freedom  his  malignant  soul. 

At  length  his  mortal  frame  was  led  to  death. 

I  stood  beside  him  ;  on  the  torturing  cross 

No  pain  assailed  his  unterrestrial  sense, 

And  yet  he  groaned.     Indignantly  I  summed 

The  massacres  and  miseries  which  his  name 

Had  sanctioned  in  my  country,  and  I  cried — 

Go!  Go!  in  mockery. 

A  smile  of  God-like  malice  re-illumined 

His  fading  lineaments. — I  go,  he  cried, 

But  thou  shalt  wander  o'er  the  unquiet  earth 

Eternally. The  dampness  of  the  grave 

Bathed  my  imperishable  front.     I  fell, 
And  long  lay  tranced  upon  the  charm'd  soil. 
When  I  awoke  hell  burned  within  my  brain, 
Which  staggered  on  its  seat;   for  all  around 
The  mouldering  relics  of  my  kindred  lay, 
Even  as  the  Almighty's  ire  arrested  them, 
And  in  their  various  attitudes  of  death 
My  murdered  children's  mute  and  eyeless  sculls 
Glared  ghastly  upon  me. 

But  my  soul, 
From  sight  and  sense  of  the  polluting  woe 
Of  tyranny,  had  long  learned  to  prefer 
Hell's  freedom  to  the  servitude  of  heaven. 
Therefore  I  rose,  and  dauntlessly  began 
My  lonely  and  unending  pilgrimage, 
Resolved  to  wage  unweariable  war 
With  my  almighty  tyrant,  and  to  hurl 
Defiance  at  his  impotence  to  harm 
Beyond  the  curse  1  bore.     The  very  hand 
That  barred  my  passage  to  the  peaceful  grave 
Has  crushed  the  earth  to  misery,  and  given 
Its  empire  to  the  chosen  of  his  slaves. 
These  have  I  seen,  even  from  the  earliest  dawn 
Of  weak,  unstable,  and  precarious  power  ; 
Then  preaching  peace,  as  now  they  practice  war, 
So,  when  they  turned  but  from  the  massacre 
Of  unoffending  infidels,  to  quench 
Their  thirst  for  ruin  in  the  very  blood 
That  flowed  in  their  own  veins,  and  pitiless  zeal 
Froze  every  human  feeling,  as  the  wife 


QUEEN  MAB.  95 

Sheathed  in  her  husband's  heart  the  sacred  steel, 
Even  whilst  its  hopes  were  dreaming  of  her  love ; 
And  friends  to  friends,  brothers  to  brothers  stood 
Opposed  in  bloodiest  battle-field,  and  war, 
Scarce  satiable  by  fate's  last  death-draught  waged 
Drunk  from  the  wine-press  of  the  Almighty's  wrath  ; 
Whilst  the  red  cross,  in  mockery  of  peace, 
Pointed  to  victory  !  When  the  fray  was  done, 
No  remnant  of  the  exterminated  faith 
Survive  to  tell  its  ruin,  but  the  flesh, 
With  putrid  smoke  poisoning  the  atmosphere, 
That  rotted  on  the  half-extinguished  pile. 

Yes  !  I  have  seen  God's  worshippers  unsheathe 
The  sword  of  his  revenge,  when  grace  descended, 
Confirming  all  unnatural  impulses, 
To  sanctify  their  desolating  deeds; 
And  frantic  priests  waved  the  ill-omened  cross 
O'er  the  unhappy  earth  :  then  shone  the  sun 
On  showers  of  gore  from  the  upflashing  steel 
Of  safe  assassination,  and  all  crime 
Made  stingless  by  the  spirits  of  the  Lord, 
And  blood-red  rainbows  canopied  the  land. 

Spirit !  no  year  of  my  eventful  being 

Has  passed  unstained  by  crime  and  misery,  [slaves 

Which  flows  from   God's  own  faith.       I've  masked  his 

With  tongues  whose  lies  are  venomous,  beguile 

The  insensate  mob  and,  whilst  one  hand  was  red 

With  murder,  feign  to  stretch  the  other  out 

For  brotherhood  and  peace  ;  and,  that  they  now 

Babble  of  love  and  mercy,  whilst  their  deeds 

Are  marked  with  all  the  narrowness  and  crime 

That  freedom's  young  arm  dares  not  yet  chastise, 

Reason  may  claim  our  gratitude,  who  now 

Establishing  the  imperishable  throne 

Of  truth,  and  stubborn  virtue,  maketh  vain 

The  unprevailing  malice  of  my  foe, 

Whose  bootless  rage  heaps  torments  for  the  brave, 

Adds  impotent  eternities  to  pain, 

Whilst  keenest  disappointment  racks  his  breast 

To  see  the  smiles  of  peace  around  them  play, 

To  frustrate,  cr  to  sanctify  their  doom. 

Thus  have  I  stood, — through  a  wild  waste  of  years 

Struggling  with  whirlwinds  of  mad  agony, 

Yet  peaceful,  and  serene,  and  sdt'-enshrined, 

Mocking  my  powerless  tyrant's  horrible  curse 

With  stubborn  and  unalterable  will, 

Even  as  a  giant  oak,  which  heaven's  fierce  flame 


96  QUEEN  MAB. 

Had  scathed  in  the  wilderness,  to  stand 
A  monument  of  fadeless  ruin  there  ; 
Yet  peacefully  and  movelessly  it  hraves 
The  midnight  conflict  of  the  wintry  sotrm, 
As  in  the  sun-light's  calm  it  spreads 
Its  worn  and  withered  arms  on  high 
To  meet  the  quiet  of  a  summer's  noon. 

The  fairy  waved  her  wand  : 

Ahasuerus  fled 
Fast  as  the  shapes  of  mingled  shade  and  mist, 

Flee  from  the  morning  heam  : 
The  matter  of  which  dreams  are  made 
Not  more  endowed  with  actual  life 
Than  this  phantasmal  portraiture 
Of  wandering  human  thought. 


The  present  and  the  past  thou  last  beheld  : 
It  was  a  desolate  sight.     Now  Spirit,  learn, 

The  secrets  of  the  future. — Time  ! 
Unfold  the  brooding  pinion  of  thy  gloom, 
Render  thou  up  thy  half-devoured  babes, 
And  from  the  cradles  of  eternity, 
Where  millions  lie  lulled  to  their  portioned  sleep 
By  the  deep  murmuring  stream  of  passing  things, 
Tear  thou  that  gloomy  shroud. — Spirit,  behold 
Thy  glorious  destiny ! 

Joy  to  the  Spirit  came. 
Through  the  wide  rent  in  Time's  eternal  veil, 
Hope  was  seen  beaming  through  the  mists  of  fear: 

Earth  was  no  longer  hell ; 

Love,  freedom,  health,  had  given 
Their  ripeness  to  the  manhood  of  its  prime, 

And  all  its  pulses  beat 
Symphonious  to  the  planetary  spheres : 

Then  dulcet  music  swelled 
Concordant  with  the  life-strings  of  the  soul ; 
It  throbbed  in  sweet  and  languid  beatings  there, 
Catching  new  life  from  tansitory  death, — 
Like  the  vague  sighings  of  a  wind  at  even, 
That  wakes  the  wavelets  of  the  slumbering  sea, 
And  dies  on  the  creation  of  its  breath, 
And  sinks  and  rises,  fails  and  swells  by  fits: 

Was  the  pure  stream  of  feeling 
That  sprung  from  these  sweet  notes, 
And  o'er  the  Spirit's  human  sympathies 
With  mild  and  gentle  motion  calmly  flowed. 


QUEEN  MAB.  97 

Joy  to  the  Spirit  came, — 

Such  joy  as  when  a  lover  sees 

The  chosen  of  his  soul  in  happiness, 

And  witnesses  her  peace 
"Whose  woe  to  him  were  bitterer  than  death  ; 

Sees  her  unfaded  cheek 
Glow  mantling  in  first  luxury  of  health, 

Thrills  with  her  lovely  eyes, 
Which  like  two  stars  amid  the  heaving  main 

Sparkle  through  liquid  bliss. 

Then  in  her  triumph  spoke  the  Fairy  Queen : 
I  will  not  call  the  ghost  of  ages  gone 
To  unfold  the  frightful  secrets  of  its  lore  ; 

The  present  now  is  past, 
And  those  events  that  desolate  the  earth 
Have  faded  from  the  memory  of  Time, 
Who  dares  not  give  reality  to  that 
Whose  being  I  annul.     To  me  is  given 
The  wonders  of  the  human  world  to  keep, 
Space,  matter,  time,  and  mind.     Futurity 
Exposes  now  its  treasure ;  let  the  sight 
Renew  and  strengthen  all  thy  failing  hope. 
O  human  Spirit!  spur  thee  to  the  goal 
Where  virtue  fixes  universal  peace, 
And,  'midst  the  ebb  and  flow  of  human  things, 
Shew  somewhat  stable,  somewhat  certain  still, 
A  light-house  o'er  the  wild  of  dreary  waves. 

The  habitable  earth  is  full  of  bliss  ; 

Those  wastes  of  frozen  billows  that  were  hurled 

By  everlasting  snow-storms  round  the  poles, 

Where  matter  dared  not  vegetate  nor  live, 

But  ceaseless  frost  round  the  vast  solitude 

Bound  its  broad  zone  of  stillness,  are  unloosed; 

And  fragrant  zephyrs  there  from  spicy  isles 

Ruffle  the  placid  ocean-deep,  that  rolls 

Its  broad,  bright  surges  to  the  sloping  sand, 

Whose  roar  is  wakened  into  echoings  sweet 

To  murmur  through  the  heaven-breathing  groves, 

And  melodize  with  man's  blest  nature  there. 

Those  deserts  of  immeasurable  sand, 
Whose  age-collected  fervours  scarce  allowed 
A  bird  to  live,  a  blade  of  grass  to  spring, 
Where  the  shrill  chirp  of  the  green  lizard's  love 
Broke  on  the  sultry  silentness  alone, 
Now  teem  with  countless  rills  and  shady  woods, 
Corn-fields,  and  pastures,  and  white  cottages; 
And  where  the  startled  wilderness  beheld 


QUEEN  MAB. 

A  savage  conqueror  stained  in  kindred  blood, 
A  tigress  sating  with  the  flesh  of  lambs 
The  unnatural  famine  of  her  toothless  cubs, 
Whilst  shouts  and  bowlings  through  the  desert  rang; 
Sloping  and  smooth  the  daisy-spangled  lawn, 
Offering  sweet  incense  to  the  sun-rise,  smiles 
To  see  a  babe  before  his  mother's  door, 
Sharing  his  morning's  meal 
With  the  green  and  golden  basilisk 
That  comes  to  lick  his  feet. 

Those  trackless  deeps,  where  many  a  weary  sail 
Has  seen  above  the  illimitable  plain, 
Morning  on  night,  and  night  on  morning  rise, 
Whilst  still  no  land  to  greet  the  wanderer  spread 
Its  shadowy  mountains  on  the  sun-bright  sea, 
Where  the  loud  roarings  of  the  tempest-waves 
So  long  have  mingled  with  the  gusty  wind 
In  melancholy  loneliness,  and  swept 
The  desert  of  those  ocean  solitudes, 
But  vocal  to  the  sea-bird's  harrowing  shriek, 
The  bellowing  monster,  and  the  rushing  storm  j 
Now  to  the  sweet  and  many  mingling  sounds 
Of  kindliest  human  impulses  respond. 
Those  lonely  realms  bright  garden-isles  begem, 
With  lightsome  clouds  and  shining  seas  between, 
And  fertile  valleys,  resonant  with  bliss, 
Whilst  green  woods  overcanopy  the  wave, 
Which  like  a  toil-worn  labourer  leaps  to  shore, 
To  meet  the  kisses  of  the  flowrets  there. 

All  things  are  recreated,  and  the  flame 
Of  consentaneous  love  inspires  all  life  : 
The  fertile  bosom  of  the  earth  gives  suck 
To  myriads,  who  still  grow  beneath  her  care, 
Rewarding  her  with  their  pure  perfectness: 
The  balmy  breathing's  of  the  wind  inhale 
Her  virtues,  and  diffuse  them  all  abroad: 
Health  floats  amid  the  gentle  atmosphere, 
Glows  in  the  fruit--,  and  mantles  on  the  stream: 
No  storms  deform  the  beaming  brow  of  heaven, 
Nor  scatter  in  the  freshness  of  its  pride 
The  foliage  of  the  ever-verdant  trees; 
But  fruits  are  ever  ripe,  flowers  ever  fair, 
And  autumn  proudly  bears  her  matron  grace, 
Kindling  a  flush  on  the  fair  cheek  of  spring, 
Whose  virgin  bloom  beneath  the  ruddy  fruit 
Reflects  its  tint  and  blushes  into  love. 

The  lion  now  forgets  to  thirst  for  blood : 


QUEEN  MAB. 

There  might  you  see  him  sporting  in  the  sun 
Besides  the  dreadless  kid ;  his  claws  are  sheathed, 
His  teeth  are  harmless,  custom's  force  has  made 
His  nature  as  the  nature  of  a  lamb. 
Like  passion's  fruit,  the  nightshade's  tempting  bane 
Poisons  no  more  the  pleasure  it  bestows  : 
All  bitterness  is  past ;  the  cup  of  joy 
Unmingled  mantles  to  the  goblet's  brim, 
And  courts  the  thirsty  lips  it  fled  before. 

But  chief,  ambiguous  man,  he  that  can  know 

More  misery,  and  dream  more  joy  than  all ; 

Whose  keen  sensations  thrill  within  his  breast 

To  mingle  with  a  loftier  instinct  there, 

Lending  their  power  to  pleasure  and  to  pain, 

Yet  raising,  sharpening,  and  refining  each ; 

Who  stands  amid  the  ever-varying  world, 

The  burden  or  the  glory  of  the  earth  ; 

He  chief  perceives  the  change  ;  his  being  notes 

The  gradual  renovation,  and  defines 

Each  movement  of  its  progress  on  his  mind. 

Man,  where  the  gloom  of  the  long  polar  night 

Lowers  o'er  the  snow-clad  rocks  and  frozen  soil, 

Where  scarce  the  hardiest  herb  that  braves  the  frost 

Basks  in  the  moonlight's  ineffectual  glow, 

Shrank  with  the  plants,  and  darkened  with  the  night 

His  chilled  and  narrow  energies,  his  heart, 

Insensible  to  courage,  truth,  or  love, 

His  stunted  stature  and  imbecile  frame, 

Marked  him  for  some  abortion  of  the  earth, 

Fit  compeer  of  the  bears  that  roamed  around, 

Whose  habits  and  enjoyments  were  his  own: 

His  life  a  feverish  dream  of  stagnant  woe, 

Whose  meagre  wants,  but  scantily  fulfilled, 

Appraised  him  ever  of  the  joyless  length 

Which  his  short  being's  wretchedness  had  reached  : 

His  death  a  pang  which  famine,  cold,  and  toil, 

Long  on  the  mind,  whilst  yet  the  vital  spark 

Clung  to  the  body  stubbornly,  had  brought : 

All  was  inflicted  here  that  earth's  revenge 

Could  wreak  on  the  infringers  of  her  law ; 

One  curse  alone  was  spared — the  name  of  God. 

Now,  where  the  tropics  bound  the  realms  of  day 
With  a  broad  belt  of  mingling  cloud  and  flame, 
Where  blue  mists  the  unmoving  atmosphere 
Scattered  the  seeds  of  pestilence,  and  fed 
Unnatural  vegetation,  where  the  land 
Teemed  with  all  earthquake,  tempest,  and  disease, 


100  QUEEN  MAB. 

Was  man  a  nobler  being;  slavery 

Had  crushed  him  to  his  country's  blood-stained  dust; 

Or  he  was  bartered  for  the  lame  of  power, 

Which,  all  internal  impulses  destroying, 

Makes  human  will  an  article  of  trade; 

Or  he  was  changed  with  Christians  for  their  gold, 

And  dragged  to  distant  isles,  where  to  the  sound 

Of  the  flesh-mangling  scourge,  he  does  the  work 

Of  all-polluting  luxury  and  wealth, 

Which  doubly  visits  on  the  tyrants'  heads 

The  long  protracted  fulness  of  their  woe ; 

Or  he  was  led  to  legal  butchery, 

To  turn  to  worms  beneath  that  burning  sun 

Where  kings  first  leagued  against  the  rights  of  men, 

And  priests  first  traded  with  the  name  of  God. 

Even  where  the  milder  zone  afforded  man 

A  seeming  shelter,  yet  contagion  there, 

Blighting  his  being  with  unnumbered  ills, 

Spread  like  a  quenchless  fire ;  nor  truth  till  late 

Availed  to  arrest  its  progress,  or  create 

That  peace  which  first  in  bloodless  victory  waved 

Her  snowy  standard  o'er  this  favoured  clime  : 

There  man  was  long  the  train-bearer  of  slaves, 

The  mimic  of  surrounding  misery, 

The  jackal]  of  ambition's  lion-rage, 

The  bloodhound  of  religion's  hungry  zeal. 

Here  now  the  human  being  stands  adorning 

This  loveliest  earth  with  taintless  body  and  mind; 

Blest  from  his  birth  with  all  bland  impulses, 

Which  gently  in  his  noble  bosom  wake 

All  kindly  passions  and  all  pure  desires. 

Him,  (still  from  hope  to  hope  the  bliss  pursuing,  (17) 

Which  from  the  exhaustless  lore  of  human  weal 

Draws  on  the  virtuous  mind,)  the  thoughts  that  rise 

In  time-destroying  infiniteness,  gift 

With  self-enshrined  eternity,  that  mocks 

The  unprevailing  hoariness  of  age, 

And  man.  once  fleeting  o'er  the  transient  scene 

Swift  as  an  unremembered  vision,  stands 

Immortal  upon  earth:   no  longer  now  (»") 

He  slays  the  lamb  that  looks  him  in  the  face, 

And  horribly  devours  his  mangled  flesh, 

Which  still  avenging  nature's  broken  law, 

Kindled  all  putrid  humours  in  his  frame, 

All  evil  passions,  and  all  vain  belief, 

Hatred,  despair,  and  loathing  in  his  mind, 

The  germs  of  misery,  death,  disease,  and  crime. 

No  longer  now  the  winged  habitants, 


QUEEN  MAB.  101 

That  in  the  woods  their  sweet  lives  sing  away, 

Flee  from  the  form  of  man;  but  gather  round, 

And  prune  their  sunny  feathers  on  the  hands 

Which  little  children  stretch  in  friendly  sport 

Towards  these  dreadless  partners  of  their  play. 

All  things  are  void  of  terror :  man  has  lost 

His  terrible  prerogative,  and  stands 

An  equal  amidst  equals  :  happiness 

And  science  dawn,  though  late  upon  the  earth ; 

Peace  cheers  the  mind,  health  renovates  the  frame 

Disease  and  pleasure  cease  to  mingle  here, 

Reason  aud  passion  cease  to  combat  there  ; 

Whilst  each  unfettered  o'er  the  earth  extends 

Its  all-subduing  energies,  and  wields 

The  sceptre  of  a  vast  dominion  there: 

Whilst  every  shape  and  mode  of  matter  lends 

Its  force  to  the  omnipotence  of  mind, 

Which  from  its  dark  mine  drags  the  gem  of  truth 

To  decorate  its  paradise  of  peace. 


O  happy  Earth  !  reality  of  Heaven! 
To  which  those  restless  souls  that  ceaselessly 
Throng  through  the  human  universe,  aspire  ; 
Thou  consummation  of  all  mortal  hope  ! 
Thou  glorious  prize  of  blindly-working  will  ! 
Whose  rays,  diffused  throughout  all  space  and  time, 
Verge  to  one  point,  and  blend  for  ever  there: 
Of  purest  spirits  thou  pure  dwelling-place  ! 
Where  care  and  sorrow,  impotence  and  crime. 
Languor,  disease,  and  ignorance  dare  not  come : 
O  happy  Earth,  reality  of  Heaven  ! 

Genius  has  seen  thee  in  her  passionate  dreams, 
And  dim  forebodings  of  thy  loveliness 
Haunting  the  human  heart,  have  there  entwined 
Those  rooted  hopes  of  some  sweet  place  of  bliss 
Where  friends  and  lovers  meet  to  part  no  more. 
Thou  art  the  end  of  all  desire  and  will, 
The  product  of  all  action  ;  and  the  souls 
That  by  the  paths  of  an  aspiring  change 
Have  reached  thy  haven  of  perpetual  peace, 
There  rest  from  the  eternity  of  toil 
That  framed  the  fabric  of  thy  perfectness. 

Even  Time,  the  conqueror,  fled  thee  in  his  fear; 
That  hoary  giant,  who,  in  lonely  pride, 
So  long  had  ruined  the  world,  that  nations  fell 
Beneath  his  silent  footstep.     Pyramids, 
That  for  millenniums  had  withstood  the  tide 


102  QUEEN    MAB. 

Of  human  things,  his  storm-breath  drove  in  sand 

Across  that  desert  where  their  stones  survived 

The  name  of  him  whose  pride  had  heaped  them  there. 

Yon  monarch,  in  his  solitary  pomp, 

Was  but  the  mushroom  of  a  summer  day, 

That  his  light-winged  footsteps  pressed  to  dust ; 

Time  was  the  king  of  earth  :  all  things  gave  way 

Before  him,  but  the  fixed  and  virtuous  will, 

The  sacred  sympathies  of  soul  and  sense, 

That  mocked  his  fury  and  prepared  his  fall. 

Yet  slow  and  gradual  dawned  the  morn  of  love  ; 

Long  lay  the  clouds  of  darkness  o'er  the  scene, 

Till  from  its  native  heaven  they  rolled  away: 

First,  crime  triumphant  o'er  all  hope  careered 

Unblushing,  undisguising,  bold  and  strong; 

Whilst  falsehood,  tricked  in  virtue's  attributes, 

Long  sanctified  all  deeds  of  vice  and  woe, 

Till  done  by  her  own  venomous  sting  to  death, 

She  left  the  moral  world  without  a  law, 

No  longer  fettering  passion's  fearless  wing, 

Nor  searing  reason  with  the  brand  of  God. 

Then  steadily  the  happy  ferment  worked ; 

Reason  was  free  ;  and  wild  though  passion  went 

Through  tangled  glens  and  wood-embosomed  mea^s, 

Gathering  a  garland  of  the  strangest  flowers, 

Yet,  like  the  bee  returning  to  her  queen, 

She  bound  the  sweetest  on  her  sister's  brow, 

Who  meek  and  sober  kissed  the  sportive  child, 

No  longer  trembling  at  the  broken  rod. 

Mild  was  the  slow  necessity  of  death  : 
/The  tranquil  spirit  failed  beneath  its  graep, 
Without  a  groan,  almost  without  a  fear, 
Calm  as  a  voyager  to  some  distant  land, 
And  full  of  wonder,  full  of  hope  as  he. 
The  deadly  germs  of  languor  and  disease 
Died  in  the  human  frame,  and  purity 
Blest  with  all  gifts  her  earthly  worshippers. 
How  vigorous  then  the  athletic  form  of  age  ! 
How  clear  its  open  and  unwrinkled  brow  ! 
Where  neither  avarice,  cunning,  pride,  nor  care, 
Had  stamped  the  seal  of  grey  deformity 
On  all  the  mingling  lineaments  of  time. 
How  lovely  the  intrepid  front  of  youth  ? 
Which  meek-eyed  courage  decked  with  freshest  grace; 
Courage  of  soul,  that  dreaded  not  a  name, 
And  elevated  will,  that  journeyed  on 
Through  life's  phantasmal  scene  in  fearlessness, 
While  with  virtue,  love,  and  pleasure,  hand  in  hand. 
Then,  that  sweet  bondage  which  is  freedom's  self, 


QUEEN  MAB.  103 

And  rivets  with  sensation's  softest  tie 

The  kindred  sympathies  of  human  souls, 

Needed  no  fetters  of  tyrannic  law  : 

Those  delicate  and  timid  impulses 

In  nature's  primal  modesty  arose, 

And  with  undoubting  confidence  disclosed 

The  growing  longings  of  its_  dawning  love, 

Unchecked  by  dull  and  selfish  chastity, 

That  virtue  of  the  cheaply  virtuous, 

Who  pride  themselves  in  senselessness  and  frost. 

No  longer  prostitution's  venom ed  bane 

Poisoned  the  springs  of  happiness  and  life  ; 

Woman  and  man,  in  confidence  and  love, 

Equal  and  free  and  pure,  together  trod 

The  mountain-paths  of  virtue,  which  no  more 

Were  stained  with  blood  from  many  a  pilgrim's  feet. 

Then,  where,  through  distant  ages,  long  in  pride 
"The  palace  of  the  monarch-slave  had  mocked 
Famine's  faint  groan,  and  penury's  silent  tear, 
A  heap  of  crumbling  ruins  stood,  and  threw 
Year  after  year  their  stones  upon  the  field, 
Wakaning  a  lonely  echo ;  and  the  leaves 
3f  *he  old  thorn,  that  on  the  topmost  tower 
Usurped  the  royal  ensign's  grandeur,  shook 
In  the  stern  storm  that  swayed  the  topmost  tower 
And  whispered  strange  tales  in  the  whirlwind's  ear. 
Low  through  the  lone  cathedral's  roofless  aisles 
The  melancholy  winds  a  death-dirge  sung: 
It  were  a  sight  of  awfulness  to  see 
The  works  of  faith  and  slavery,  so  vast, 
So  sumptuous,  yet  so  perishing  withal ! 
Even  as  the  corpse  that  re>ts  beneath  its  wall. 
A  thousand  mourners  deck  the  pomp  of  death 
To-day;  the  breathing  marble  glows  above 
To  decorate  its  memory,  and  tongues 
Are  busy  of  its  life  ;  to-morrow,  worms 
In  silence  and  in  darkness  seize  their  prey. 

Within  the  massy  prison's  mouldering  courts, 

Fearless  and  free,  the  ruddy  children  played, 

Weaving  gay  chaplets  for  their  innocent  brows 

With  the  green  ivy  and  the  red  wall-flower, 

That  mock  the  dungeon's  unavailing  gloom; 

The  ponderous  chains,  and  gratings  of  strong  iron. 

There  rusted  amid  heaps  of  broken  stone 

That  mingled  slowly  with  their  native  earth : 

There  the  broad  beam  of  day,  which  feebly  once 

Lighted  the  cheek  of  lean  captivity 

With  a  pale  and  sickly  glare,  then  freely  shone 


104  QUEEN  MAB. 

On  the  puije  smiles  of  infant  playfulness  : 

No  more  the  shuddering;  voice  of  hoarse  despair 

Peeled  through  the  echoing  vaults,  but  soothing  note 

Of  ivy-fingered  winds  and  gladsome  birds 

And  merriment  were  resonant  around. 

These  ruins  soon  left  not  a  wreck  behind  : 
Their  elements,  wide  scattered  o'er  the  globe, 
To  happier  shapes  were  moulded,  and  became 
Ministrant  to  all  blissful  impulses: 
Thus  human  things  were  perfected,  and  earth, 
Even  as  a  child  beneath  it's  mother's  love, 
Was  strengthened  in  all  excellence,  and  grew 
Fairer  and  nobler  with  each  passing  year. 

Now  Time  his  dusky  pennons  o'er  the  scene 

Closes  in  steadfast  darkness,  and  the  past 

Fades  from  our  charmed  sight.     My  task  is  done  : 

Thy  lore  is  learned.     Earth's  wonders  ;<re  thine  own, 

With  all  the  fear  and  all  the  hope  they  bring 

My  spells  are  past :  the  present  now  recurs. 

Ah  me  !  a  pathless  wilderness  remains 

Yet  unsubdued  by  man's  reclaiming  hand. 

Yet,  human  Spirit,  bravely  hold  thy  course, 

Let  virtue  teach  thee  firmly  to  pursue 

The  gradual  paths  of  an  aspiring  change  ; 

For  birth  and  life,  and  death,  and  that  strange  state 

Before  the  naked  soul  has  found  its  home, 

All  tend  to  perfect  happiness,  and  urge 

The  restless  wheels  of  being  on  their  way, 

Whose  flashing  spokes,  instinct  with  infinite  life, 

Bicker  and  burn  to  gain  their  destined  goal: 

For  birth  but  wakes  the  spirit  to  the  sense 

Of  outward  shews,  whose  inexperienced  shape 

New  modes  of  passion  to  its  frame  may  lend; 

Life  is  its  state  of  action,  and  the  store 

Of  all  events  is  aggregated  there 

That  variegate  the  eternal  universe  ; 

Death  is  a  gate  of  dreariness  and  gloom, 

That  leads  to  azure  isles  and  beaming  skies 

And  happy  regions  of  eternal  hope. 

Therefore,  O  Spirit!  fearlessly  bear  on  : 

Though  storms  may  break  the  primrose  on  its  stalk, 

Though  frosts  may  blight  the  freshness  of  its  bloom, 

Yet  spring's  awakening  breath  will  woo  the  earth, 

To  feed  with  kindliest  dews  its  favorite  flower, 

That  blooms  in  mossy  banks  and  darksome  glens, 

Lighting  the  green-wood  with  its  sunny  saiile. 

Fear  not  then,  Spirit,  death's  disrobing  hand, 


QUEEN  MAB.  105 

So  welcome  when  the  tyrant  is  awake, 

So  welcome  when  the  bigot's  hell-torch  burns  ; 

Tis  but  the  voyage  of  a  darksome  hour, 

The  transient  gulph-dream  ol'a  startling  sleep. 

Death  is  no  foe  to  virtue :  earth  has  seen 

Love's  brightest  roses  on  the  scaffold  bloom, 

Mingling  with  freedom's  fadeless  laurels  there, 

And  presaging  the  truth  of  vision'd  bliss. 

Are  there  not  hopes  within  thee,  which  this  scene 

Of  linked  and  gradual  being  has  confirmed  ? 

Whose  stingings  bade  thy  heart  look  further  still, 

When,  to  the  moonlight  walk,  by  Henry  led, 

Sweetly  and  sadly  thou  didst  talk  of  death? 

And  wilt  thou  rudely  tear  them  from  thy  breast, 

Listening  supinely  to  a  bigot's  creed  ; 

Or  tamely  crouching  to  the  tyrant's  rod, 

Whose  iron  thongs  are  red  with  human  gore  ? 

Never :  but  bravely  bearing  on,  thy  will 

Is  destined  an  eternal  war  to  wage 

With  tyranny  and  falsehood,  and  uproot 

The  germs  of  misery  from  the  human  heart. 

Thine  is  the  hand  whose  piety  would  soothe 

The  thorny  pillow  of  unhappy  crime, 

Whose  impotence  an  easy  pardon  gains, 

Watching  its  wanderings  as  a  friend's  disease  : 

Thine  is  the  brow  whose  mildness  would  defy 

Its  fiercest  rage,  and  brave  its  sternest  will, 

When  fenced  by  power  and  master  of  the  world. 

Thou  art  sincere  and  good  ;  of  resolute  mind  , 

Free  from  heart-withering  custom's  cold  control, 

Of  passion  lofty,  pure,  and  unsubdued. 

Earth's  pride  and  meanness  could  not  vanquish  thee, 

And  therefore  art  thou  worthy  of  the  boon 

Which  thou  hast  now  received :  virtue  shall  keep 

Thy  footsteps  in  the  path  that  thou  hast  trod, 

And  many  days  of  beaming  hope  shall  bless 

Thy  spotless  life  of  sweet  and  sacred  love. 

Go,  happy  one  !  and  give  that  bosom  joy, 

Whose  sleepless  spirit  waits  to  catch 

Light,  life,  and  rapture  from  thy  smile. 

The  fairy  waves  her  wand  of  charm. 
Speechless  with  bliss  the  Spirit  mounts  the  car 

That  rolled  beside  the  battlement, 
Bending  her  beamy  eyes  in  thankfulness. 

Again  the  enchanted  steeds  were  yoked, 

Again  the  burning  wheels  inflame 
The  steep  descent  of  heaven's  untrodden  way. 

Fast  and  far  the  chariot  flew: 

The  vast  and  fiery  globes  that  rolled 
10 


106  QUEEN  MAB. 

Around  the  Fairy's  palace-gate 
Lessened  by  slow  degrees,  and  soon  appeared 
Such  tiny  twinklers  as  the  planet  orbs 
That  there  attendant  on  the  solar  power 
With  borrowed  light  pursued  their  narrower  way. 

Eartli  floated  then  below: 
The  chariot  paused  a  moment  there  ; 

The  Spirit  then  descended: 
The  restless  coursers  pawed  the  ungenial  soil, 
Snuffed  the  gross  air,  and  then,  their  errand  done, 
Unfurled  their  pinions  to  the  winds  of  heaven. 

The  Body  and  the  Soul  united  then  ; 

A  gentle  start  convulsed  Ianthe's  frame  : 
Her  veiny  eyelids  quietly  unclosed  ; 
Moveless  awhile  the  dark  blue  orbs  remained 
She  looked  around  in  wonder,  and  beheld 
Henry,  who  kneeled  in  silence  by  her  couch, 
Watching  her  sleep  with  looks  of  speechless  love, 

And  the  bright-beaming  stars 

That  through  the  casement  shone. 


END  OF  QUEEN  MAB. 


NOTES 

TO 

©TOM  MAR, 


[a)  Page  62. 

The  sun's  unclouded  orb 

Rolled  through  the  black  concave. 

BeyoKd  our  atmosphere  the  sun  would  appear  a  rayless  orb  of  fire,  in 
the  midst  of  a  black  concave.  The  equal  diffusion  of  its  light  on  earth  is 
owing  to  the  refraction  of  the  rays  by  the  atmosphere,  and  their  reflection 
from  other  bodies.  Light  consists  either  of  vibrations  propagated  through 
a  subtle  medium,  or  of  numerous  minute  particles  repelled  in  all  direc- 
tions from  the  luminous  body.  Its  velocity  greatly  exceeds  that  of  any 
substance  with  which  we  are  acquainted  :  observations  on  the  eclipses  of 
Jupiter's  satellites  have  demonstrated  that  light  takes  up  no  more  than 
eight  minutes  seven  seconds  in  passing  from  the  sun  to  the  earth,  a  dis- 
tance of  95,000,000  miles. — Some  idea  may  be  gained  of  the  immense 
distance  of  the  fixed  stars,  when  it  is  computed  that  many  years  would 
elapse  before  light  could  reach  this  earth  from  the  nearest  of  them ;  yet 
in  one  year  light  travels  5,422,-100,000,000  miles,  which  is  a  distance 
5,707,600  times  greater  than  that  of  the  sun  from  the  earth. 

(6)  Page  62. 

Whilst  round  the  chariot's  way 
Innumerable  systems  rolled. 


The  plurality  of  worlds — the  indefinite  immensity  of  the  universe — is  a 
most  awful  subject  of  contemplation.  lie  who  rightly  feels  its  mystery 
and  grandeur,  is  in  no  danger  of  seduction  from  the  falsehoods  of  religious 
systems,  or  of  deifying  the  principle  of  the  universe.  It  is  impossible  to 
believe  that  the  Spirit  that  pervades  this  infinite  machine,  begat  a  son 
upon  the  body  of  a  Jewish  woman  ;  or  is  angered  at  the  consequences  of 
that  necessity,  which  is  a  synonyme  of  itself.  All  that  miserable  tale  of 
the  Devil,  and  Eve,  and  an  Intercessor,  with  the  childish  mummeries  of 
the  God  of  the  Jews,  is  irreconcileable  with  the  knowledge  of  the  stars. 
The  works  of  his  fingers  have  borne  witness  against  him. 

The  nearest  of  the  fixed  stars  is  inconceivably  distant  from  the  earth, 
and  they  are  probably  proportionably  distant  from  each  other.  By  a  cal- 
culation of  the  velocity  of  light,  Sirius  is  supposed  to  be  at  least 
54,224,000,000,000  miles  from  the  earth.*  That  which  appears  only  like 
a  thin  and  silvery  cloud  streaking  the  heaven,  is  in  effect  composed  of 
innumerable  clusters  of  suns,  each  shining  with  its  own  light,  and  illu- 
minating numbers  of  planets  that  revolve  around  them.  Millions  and 
millions  of  suns  are  ranged  around  us,  all  attended  by  innumerable 
worlds,  yet  calm,  regular,  and  harmonious,  all  keeping  the  paths  of  im 
mutable  necessity. 

*  See  Nicholson's  EocvclopEeJia,  art.  Light, 


108  NOTES 

(c)   Page   7S 

These  are  the  hired  bravos  who  defend 
The  tyrant's  throne. 

To  employ  murder  as  a  means  of  justice,  is  an  idea  which  a  man  of  an 
enlightened  mind  will  not  dwell  upon  with  pleasure.  To  march  forth  in 
rank  and  file,  and  all  the  pomp  of  streamers  and  trumj-.tty,  frr  the  pur- 
pose of  shooting  at  our  fellow-men  as  a  mark;  to  inflict  upon  them  all  the 
variety  of  wound  and  anguish  ;  to  leave  them  weltering  in  their  blood ;  to 
wander  over  the  field  of  desolation,  and  count  the  number  of  the  dying 
and  the  dead, — are  employments  which  in  thesis  we  may  maintain  to  be 
necessary,  but  which  no  good  man  will  contemplate  with  gratulation  and 
delight.  A  battle  we  suppose  is  won:' — thus  truth  is  established,  thus  the 
cause  of  justice  is  confirmed  !  It  surely  requires  no  common  sagacity  to 
discern  the  connection  between  this  immense  heap  of  calamities  and  the 
assertion  of  truth,  or  the  maintenance  of  justice. 

Kings,  and  ministers  of  state,  the  real  authors  of  the  calamity,  sit  unmo- 
lested in  their  cabinet,  while  those  against  whom  the  fury  of  the  storm  is 
directed,  are,  for  the  most  part,  persons  who  have  been  trepanned  into 
the  service,  or  who  are  dragged  unwillingly  from  their  peaceful  homes  into 
the  field  of  battle.  A  soldier  is  a  man  whose  business  it  is  to  kill  those 
who  never  offended  him,  and  who  are  the  innocent  martyrs  of  other  men's 
iniquities.  Whatever  may  become  of  the  abstract  question  of  the  justifi- 
ableness  of  war,  it  seems  impossible  that  the  soldier  should  not  be  a  de- 
praved and  unnatural  being. 

To  these  more  serious  and  momentous  considerations  it  may  be  proper 
to  add  a  recollection  of  the  ridiculousness  of  the  military  character.  Its 
first  constituent  is  obedience  :  a  soldier  is,  of  all  descriptions  of  men,  the 
most  completely  a  machine;  yet  his  profession  inevitably  teaches  him 
something  of  dogmatism,  swaggering,  and  self-consequence  :  he  is  like  the 
puppet  of  a  showman,  who,  at  the  very  time  he  is  made  to  strut  and  swell 
and  display  the  most  farcical  airs,  we  perfectly  know  cannot  assume  the 
most  insignificant  gesture,  advance  either  to  the  right  or  the  left,  but  as  he 
is  moved  by  his  exhibitor. — Godwin's  Enquirer,  Essay  v. 

I  will  here  subjoin  a  little  poem,  so  strongly  expressive  of  my  abhor- 
rence of  despotism  and  falsehood,  that  I  fear  lest  it  never  again  may  be 
depictured  so  vividly.  This  opportunity  is  perhaps  the  only  one  that  ever 
will  occur  of  rescuing  it  from  oblivion. 


A    DIALOGUE. 

Whilst  monarchs  laughed  upon  their  thrones 
To  hear  a  famished  nation's  groans, 
And  hugged  the  wealth  wrung  from  the  woe 
That  makes  its  eyes  and  veins  o'erflow, — 
Those  thrones  high  built  upon  the  heaps 
Of  bones  where  frenzied  famine  sleeps, 
Where  slavery  wields  her  scourge  of  iron, 
Red  with  mankind's  unheeded  gore, 
And  War's  mad  fiends  the  scene  environ, 
Mingling  with  shrieks  a  drunken  roar, 
There  Vice  and  Falsehood  took  their  stand, 
High  raised  above  the  unhappy  land. 

FALSEHOOD. 

Brother !  arise  from  the  dainty  fare 

Which  thousands  have  toiled  and  bled  to  bestow, 

A  finer  feast  for  thine  hungry  ear 

Is  the  news  that  I  bring  of  human  woe. 


TO  QUEEN  MAB«  109 


And,  secret  one  !  what  hast  thou  done, 
To  compare,  in  thy  tumid  pride,  with  me? 
I,  whose  career,  through  the  blasted  year, 
Has  been  track'd  by  despair  and  agony. 

FALSEHOOD. 

What  have  I  done ! 1  have  torn  the  robe 

From  baby  truth's  unshelter'd  form, 
And  round  the  desolated  globe 
Borne  safely  the  bewildering  charm  : 
My  tyrant-slaves  to  a 'dungeon-floor 
Have  bound  the  fearless  innocent, 
And  streams  of  fertilizing  gore 
Flow  from  her  bosom's  hideous  rent, 
Which  this  unfailing  dagger  gave.  .  .  . 
I  dread  that  blood  ! — no  more — this  day 
Is  ours,  though  her  eternal  ray 
Must  shine  upon  our  grave. 
Yet  know,  proud  Vice,  had  I  not  given 
To  thee  the  robe  I  stole  from  heaven, 
Thy  shape  of  ugliness  and  fear 
Had  never  gained  admission  here. 


And  know,  that  had  I  disdain'd  to  toil 

But  sate  in  my  loathsome  cave  the  while, 

And  ne'er  to  these  hateful  sons  of  heaven, 

GOLD,  MONARCHY,  and  MURDER,  given; 

Hadst  thou  with  all  thine  art  essay'd 

One  of  thy  games  then  to  have  play'd 

With  all  ihine  overweening  boast, 

Falsehood !  I  tell  thee  thou  hadst  lost ! — 

Yet  wherefore  this  dispute  ? — we  tend, 

Fraternal,  to  one  common  end  ; 

In  this  cold  grave,  beneath  my  feet, 

Will  our  hopes,  our  fears,  and  our  labours,  meet. 

FALSEHOOD. 

I  brought  my  daughter,  RELIGION,  on  earth: 

She  smother'd  Reason's  babes  in  their  birth; 

But  dreaded  their  mother's  eye  severe, — 

So  the  crocodile  slunk  oil"  slily  in  fear, 

And  loosed  her  bloodhounds  from  the  den.  .  .  . 

They  started  from  dreams  of  slaughter'd  Ken, 

And"  by  the  light  of  her  poison  eye, 

Did  her  work  o'er  the  wide  earth  frightfully": 

The  dreadful  stench  of  her  torches'  flare, 

Fed  with  human  fat,  polluted  the  air  : 

The  curses,  the  shrieks,  the  ceaseless  cries 

Of  the  many-mingling  miseries, 

As  on  she  trod,  ascended  high, 

And  trumpeted  my  victory  ! — 

Brother,  tell  what  thou  hast  done. 


I  have  extlnguish'd  the  noon-day  sun, 
In  the  carnage  smoke  of  battles  won : 
Fumine,  murder,  hell,  and  power 
Wera  glutted  in  that  glorious  hour 
10* 


110  NOTES 

Which  searchless  Fate  had  stanip'd  for  me 

With  the  seal  of  her  security.  .  .  . 

For  the  bloated  wretch  on  yonder  throne 

Commanded  the  bloody  fray  to  rise. 

Like  me,  he  joy'd  at  the  stirled'moan 

Wrung  from  a  nation's  miseries ; 

While  the  snakes,  whose  slime  even  him  defiled. 

In  extacies  of  malice  smiled : 

They  thought  'twas  theirs,— but  mine  the  deed! 

Theirs  is  the  toil,  but  mine  the  meed — 

Ten  thousand  victims  madly  bleed. 

Thay  dream  that  tyrants  goad  them  there, 

With  poisonous  war  to  taint  the  air  : 

These  tyrants,  on  their  beds  of  thorn, 

Swell  with  the  thoughts  of  murderous  fame, 

And  with  their  gains,  to  lift  my  name. 

Restless  they  plan  from  night  to  morn : 

I — I  do  all ;  without  my  aid 

Thy  daughter,  that  relentless  maid, 

Could  never  o'er  a  death-bed  urge 

The  .fury  of  her  venom'd  scourge. 

FALSEHOOD. 

Brother,  well : — the  world  is  ours ; 
And  whether  thou  or  I  have  won, 
The  pestilence  expectant  lowers 
On  all  beneath  yon  blasted  sun. 
Our  joys,  our  toils,  our  honours,  meet 
.  In  the  milk-white  and  wormy  winding-sheet : 
A  short-lived  hope,  unceasing  care, 
Some  heartless  scraps  of  godly  prayer, 
A  moody  curse  and  a  frenzied  .sleep, 
Ere  gapes  the  grave's  unclosing  deep, 
A  tyrant's  dream,  a  coward's  start, 
The  ice  that  clings  to  a  priestly  heart, 
A  judge's  frown,  a  courtier's  smile, 
Make  the  great  whole  for  which  we  toil ; 
And,  brother,  whether  thou  or  I 
Have  done  the  work  of  misery. 
It  little  boots :  thy  toil  and  pain, 
Without  my  aid,  were  more  than  vain  j 
And  but  for  thee  I  ne'er  had  sate 
The  guardian  of  heaven's  palace  gate. 

(d)  Page  80. 

Thus  do  the  generations  of  the  earth 

Go  to  the  (/rave,  and  issue  from  the  womb. 

One  generation  passeth  away,  and  another  generation  Cometh,  but  the 
earth  abideth  for  ever.  The  sun  also  ariseth  and  the  sun  goeth  down,  and 
hasteth  to  his  place  where  he  arose.  The  wind  goeth  toward  the  south 
and  turneth  about  unto  the  north,  it  whirleth  about  continually,  and  the 
wind  returneth  again  according  to  his  circuits.  All  the  rivers  run  into  the 
sea,  yet  the  sea  is  not  full ;  unto  the  place  whence  the  rivers  come,  thither 
shall  they  return  again. — Ecclesiastes,  chap.  i. 

(e)  Page  80 

Even  as  the  leaves 
Which  the  keen  frost-wind  of  the  waning  year 
Has  scatter'd  on  the  forest  soil. 

Like  leaves  on  trees,  the  race  of  man  is  found — 
Now  green  in  youth,  now  withering  on  the  ground* 


TO  QUEEN  MAB.  Ill 

.4nother  race  the  following  spring  supplies; 
They  fall  successive,  and  successive  rise  : 
So  generations  in  their  course  decay; 
So  flourish  these,  when  those  are  past  away. 

Pope's  Homer. 
(/)  Page  81. 
The  mob  of  peasants,  nobles,  priests,  and  kings. 

When  the  wide  ocean  maddening  whirlwinds  sweep, 

And  heave  the  billows  of  the  boiling  deep, 

Pleased  we  from  land  the  reeling  bark  survey, 

And  rolling  mountains  of  the  watery  way. 

Not  that  we  joy  another's  woes  to  see. 

But  to  reflect  that  we  ourselves  are  free. 

So,  the  dread  battle,  ranged  in  distant  fields, 

Ourselves  secure,  a  secret  pleasure  yields; 

But  what  more  charming  than  to  gain  the  height 

Of  true  philosophy  .'     What  pure  delight 

From  wisdom's  citadel  to  view  below. 

Deluded  mortals,  as  they  wandering  go 

In  quest  of  happiness  !  ah,  blindly  weak! 

For  fame,  for  vain  nobility  they  seek  ; 

Labour  for  heapy  treasures  night  and  day, 

And  pant  for  power  and  magisterial  sway. 

Oh,  wretched  mortals!  souls  devoid  of  light, 

Lost  in  the  shades  of  intellectual  night! 

Dr  Busby's  Lucretius, 
(g)  Page  82. 
And  statesmen  boast 
Of  wealth .' 
There  is  no  real  wealth  but  the  labour  of  man.  Were  the  mountains 
of  gold,  and  the  valleys  of  silver,  the  world  would  not  be  one  grain  of  corn 
the  richer;  no  one  comfort  would  be  added  to  the  human  race.  In  con- 
sequence of  our  consideration  for  the  precious  metals,  one  man  is  enabled 
to  heap  to  himself  luxuries  at  the  expense  of  the  necessaries  of  his  neigh- 
bour; a  system  admirably  fitted  to  produce  all  the  varieties  of  disease  and 
crime,  which  never  fail  to  characterize  the  two  extremes  of  opulence  and 
penury.  A  speculator  takes  pride  to  himself  as  the  promoter  of  his  coun- 
try's prosperity,  who  employs  a  number  of  hands  in  the  manufacture  of 
articles  avowedly  destitute  of  use,  or  subservient  only  to  the  unhallowed 
cravings  of  luxury  and  ostentation.  The  nobleman  who  employs  the  pea- 
sants of  his  neighbourhood  in  building  his  palaces,  until  "jam  pauca  ara- 
trojugera,  rcgite  moles  relinquent,"  *  flatters  himself  thathe  has  gained  the 
title  of  a  patriot  by  yielding  to  the  impulses  of  vanity.  The  shew  and 
pomp  of  courts  adduces  the  same  apology  for  its  continuance  ;  and  many 
a.  fete  has  been  given,  many  a  woman  has  eclipsed  her  beavity  by  her  dress, 
to  benefit  the  labouring  pior  and  to  encourage  trade.  Who  does  not  see 
that  this  is  a  remedy  which  aggravates,  whilst  it  palliates,  the  countless 
diseases  of  society  .'  The  poor  are  set  to  labour, — for  what?  Not  the  food 
for  which  they  famish  ;  not  the  blankets  for  want  of  which  their  babes  are 
frozen  by  the  cold  of  their  miserable  hovels;  not  those  comforts  of  civili- 
zation without  which  civilized  man  is  far  more  miserable  than  the  mean- 
est savage ;  oppressed  as  he  is  by  all  its  insidious  evils,  within  the  daily 
and  taunting  prospect  of  its  innumerable  benefits  assiduously  exhibited 
before  him : — no ;  for  the  pride  of  power,  for  the  miserable  isolation  of 
pride,  for  the  false  pleasures  of  the  hundredth  part  of  society.  No  greater 
evidence  is  afforded  of  the  wide  extended  and  radical  mistakes  of  civilized 
man  than  this  fact;  those  arts  which  are  essential  to  his  very  being  are 
held  in  the  greatest  contempt ;  employments  are  lucrative  in  an  inverse 
ratio  to  their  usefulness  :f  thejewel.er,  the  toyman,  the  actor  gains  fame 

*  Xiese  piles  of  royal  structure  will  soon  leave  but  few  acres  for  the  plougn. 
+  Sec  Rousseau,  "  De  1'Inegalite  panni  les  Hommes,"  note  7.  ' 


112  NOTES 

and  wealth  by  the  exercise  of  his  useless  and  ridiculous  art ;  whilst  the 
cultivator  of  the  earth,  he  without  whom  society  must  cease  to  exist,  strug- 
gles through  contempt  and  penury,  and  perishes  by  that  famine  which,  but 
for  his  unceasing  exertiens,  would  annihilate  the  rest  of  mankind. 

I  will  not  insult  common  sense  by  insisting  on  the  doctrine  of  the  natu- 
ral equality  of  man.  The  question  is  not  concerning  its  desirableness,  but 
its  practicability;  so  far  as  it  is  practicable,  it  is  desirable.  That  state  of 
human  society  which  approaches  nearer  to  an  equal  partition  of  its  bene- 
fits and  evils  should,  cceteris  paribus  *  be  preferred  :  but  so  long  as  we 
conceive  that  a  wanton  expenditure  of  human  labour,  not  for  the  necessi- 
ties, not  even  for  the  luxuries  of  the  mass  of  society,  but  for  the  egotism 
and  ostentation  of  a  few  of  its  members,  is  defensible  on  the  ground  of 
public  justice,  so  long  we  neglect  to  approximate  to  the  redemption  of  the 
human  race. 

Labour  is  required  for  physical,  and  leisure  for  moral  improvement: 
from  the  former  of  these  advantages  the  rich,  and  from  the  latter  the  poor, 
by  the  inevitable  conditions  of  their  respective  situations,  are  precluded. 
A  state  which  should  combine  the  advantages  of  both,  would  be  subjected 
to  the  evils  of  neither.  He  that  is  deficient  in  firm  health,  or  vigorous  in- 
tellect, is  but  half  a  man  ;  hence  it  follows,  that,  to  subject  the  labouring 
classes  to  unnecessary  labour,  is  wantonly  depriving  them  of  any  opportu- 
nities of  intellectual  improvement;  and  that  the  rich  are  heaping  up  for 
their  own  mischief  the  disease,  lassitude,  and  ennui,  by  which  their  exist- 
ence is  rendered  an  intolerable  burthen. 

English  reformers  exclaim  against  sinecures,  but  the  true  pension-list  is 
the  rent-roll  of  the  landed  proprietors  :  wealth  is  a  power  usurped  by  the 
few,  to  compel  the  many  to  labour  for  their  benefit.  The  laws  which  sup- 
port this  system  derive  their  force  from  the  ignorance  and  credulity  of  its 
victims  :  they  are  the  result  of  a  conspiracy  of  the  few  against  the  many, 
who  are  themselves  obliged  to  purchase  this  rue-eminence  by  the  loss  of 
all  real  comfort. 

The  commodities  that  substantially  contribute  to  the  subsistence  of  the 
human  species  form  a  very  short  catalogue ;  they  demand  from  us  but  a 
slender  portion  of  industry.  If  these  only  were  produced,  and  sufficiently 
produced,  the  species  of  man  would  be  continued.  If  the  labour  necessa- 
rily required  to  produce  them  were  equitably  divided  among  the  poor,  and, 
still  more,  if  it  were  equitably  divided  among  all,  each  man's  share  of  la- 
bour would  be  light,  and  his  portion  of  leisure  would  be  ample.  There 
was  a  time  when  this  leisure  would  have  been  of  small  comparative  value  : 
it  is  to  be  hoped  that  the  time  will  come,  when  it  will  be  applied  to  the 
most  important  purposes.  Those  hours  which  are  not  required  for  the 
production  of  the  necessaries  of  life,  may  be  devoted  to  the  cultivation  of 
the  understanding,  the  enlarging  our  stock  of  knowledge,  the  refining  our 
taste,  and  thus  opening  to  us  new  and  more  exquisite  sources  of  enjoyment. 

It  was  perhaps  necessary  that  a  period  of  monopoly  and  oppression 
should  subsist,  before  a  period  of  cultivated  equality  could  subsist.  Sava- 
ges perhaps  would  never  have  been  excited  to  the  discovery  of  truth  and 
the  invention  of  art,  but  by  the  narrow  motives  which  such  a  period  af- 
fords. But,  surely,  after  the  savage  state  has  ceased,  and  men  have  set 
out  in  the  glorious  career  of  discovery  and  invention,  monopoly  and  oppres- 
sion cannot  be  necessary  to  prevent  them  from  returning  to  a  state  of 
barbarism. — Godwin's  Enquirer,  Essay  II.  See  also  Pol.  Jus.,  book  viii. 
chap.  11. 

It  is  a  calculation  of  this  admirable  author,  that  all  the  conveniences  of 
civilized  life  might  be  produced,  if  society  would  divide  the  labour  equally 
among  its  members,  by  each  individual  being  employed  in  labour  t*o 
hours  during  the  day. 

(A)  Page  82. 
Or  religion 
Drives  his  wife  raving  mad. 

I  am  acquainted  with  a  lady  of  considerable  accomplishments,  and  the 

*  Making  allowances  on  both  siJes. 


TO  QUEEN  MA13.  113 

mother  of  a  numerous  family,  whom  the  Christian  religion  has  goaded  to 
an  incurable  insanity.  A  parallel  ease  is,  I  believe,  within  the  experience 
of  every  physician. 

For  some,  the  approach  of  Death  and  Hell  to  stay, 
Their  parents,  friends,  and  country,  will  betray. 

Dr.  Busby's  Lucretius. 
(i)  Page  84. 
Even  love  is  sold. 

Not  even  the  intercourse  of  the  sexes  is  exempt  from  the  despotism  of 
positive  institution.  Law  pretends  even  to  govern  the  indisciplinable 
wanderings  of  passion,  to  put  fetters  on  the  clearest  deductions  of  reason, 
and,  by  appeals  to  the  will,  to  subdue  the  involuntary  affections  of  our  na- 
ture. Love  is  inevitably  consequent  upon  the  perception  of  loveliness. 
Love  withers  under  constraint :  its  very  essence  is  liberty  :  it  is  compatible 
neither  with  obedience,  jealousy,  nor  fear :  it  is  there  most  pure,  perfect, 
and  unlimited,  where  its  votaries  live  in  confidence,  equality,  and  unre- 
serve. 

How  long  then  ought  the  sexual  connection  to  last?  what  law  ought  to 
specify  the  extent  of  the  grievances  which  should  limit  its  duration?  A 
husband  and  wife  ought  to  continue  so  long  united  as  they  love  each  other: 
any  law  which  should  bind  them  to  cohabitation  for  one  moment  after  the 
decay  of  their  affection,  would  be  a  most  intolerable  tyranny,  and  the 
most  unworthy  of  toleration.  How  odious  an  usurpation  of  the  right  of 
private  judgment  should  that  law  be  considered,  which  should  make  the 
ties  of  friendship  indissoluble,  in  spite  of  the  caprices,  the  inconstancy, 
the  fallibility,  and  capacity  for  improvement  of  the  human  mind.  And 
by  so  much  would  the  fetters  of  love  be  heavier  and  more  unendurable 
than  those  of  friendship,  as  love  is  more  vehement  and  capricious,  more 
dependent  on  those  delicate  peculiarities  of  imagination,  and  less  capable 
of  reduction  to  the  ostensible  merits  of  the  object. 

The  state  of  society  in  which  we  exist  is  a  mixture  of  feudal  savageness 
and  imperfect  civilization.  The  narrow  and  unenlightened  morality  of 
the  Christian  religion  is  an  aggravation  of  these  evils.  It  is  not  even  until 
lately  that  mankind  have  admitted  that  happiness  is  the  sole  end  of  the 
science  of  ethics,  as  of  all  other  sciences  ;  and  that  the  fanatical  idea  of 
mortifying  the  flesh  for  the  love  of  God  has  been  discarded.  I  have  hoard, 
indeed,  an  ignorant  collegian  adduce,  in  favour  of  Christianity,  its  hostility 
to  every  worldly  feeling !  * 

But  if  happiness  be  the  object  of  morality,  of  all  human  unions  and  dis- 
unions ;  if  the  worthiness  of  every  action  is  to  be  estimated  by  the  quantity 
of  pleasurable  sensation  it  is  calculated  to  produce,  then  the  connection  of 
the  sexes  is  so  long  sacred  as  it  contributes  to  the  comfort  of  the  parties, 
and  is  naturally  dissolved  when  its  evils  are  greater  than  its  benefits. 
There  is  nothing  immoral  in  this  separation.  Constancy  has  nothing 
virtuous  in  itself,  independently  of  the  pleasure  it  confers,  and  partakes  of 
the  temporizing  spirit  of  vice  in  proportion  as  it  endures  tamely  moral  de- 
fects of  magnitude  in  the  objects  of  its  indiscreet  choice.  Love  is  free  :  to 
promise  for  ever  to  love  the  same  woman,  is  not  less  absurd  than  to  pro- 
mise to  believe  the  same  creed !  such  a  vow,  in  both  cases,  excludes  us 
from  all  enquiry.  The  language  of  the  votarist  is  this  :  the  woman  I  now 
love  may  be  infinitely  inferior  to  many  others ;  the  creed  I  now  profess 
may  be  a  mass  of  errors  and  absurdities;  but  I  exclude  myself  from  all 
future  information  as  to  the  amiability  of  the  one,  and  the  truth  of  the 
other,  resolving  blindly,  and  in  spite  of  conviction,  to  adhere  to  them. — Is 
this  the  language  of  delicacy  and  reason  ?  Is  the  love  of  such  a  frigid  heart 
of  more  worth  than  its  belief? 


if  the  parents  end 

■iNO'ire. 

to  scree 

11  i 

e  crimi 

estates  were  colitis 

a  ted  ; 

forced  to  swallow  r 

.,'llel  le 

ad.     The 

tu  the  consequence 

,  of  the 

■■<;, 

See  also,  for  the 

tatred  of  the  pri 

ve   Christians 

was  punished 

nd  even  marri 

114  NOTES 

The  present  system  of  constraint  does  no  more,  in  the  majority  of  in- 
stances, than  make  hypocrites  or  open  enemies.  Persons  of  delicacy  and 
virtue,  unhappily  united  to  one  whom  they  find  it  impossible  to  love,  spend 
the  loveliest  season  of  their  life  in  unproductive  efforts  to  appear  other- 
wise than  they  are,  for  the  sake  of  the  feelings  of  their  partner  or  the 
welfare  of  their  mutual  offspring:  those  of  less  generosity  and  refinement 
openly  avow  their  disappointment,  and  linger  out  the  remnant  of  that 
union,  which  only  death  can  dissolve,  in  a  state  of  incurable  bickering 
and  hostility.  The  early  education  of  their  children  takes  its  colour  from 
the  squabbles  of  the  parents  ;  they  are  nursed  in  a  systematic  school  of  ill 
humour,  violence,  and  falsehood.  Had  they  been  suffered  to  part  at  the 
moment  when  indifference  rendered  their  union  irksome,  they  would  have 
been  spared  many  years  of  misery :  they  would  have  connected  themselves 
more  suitably,  and  would  have  found  that  happiness  in  the  society  of 
more  congenial  partners,  which  is  for  ever  denied  them  by  the  despotism 
of  marriage.  They  would  have  been  separately  useful  and  happy  mem- 
bers of  society,  who,  whilst  united,  were  miserable,  and  rendered  misan- 
thropical by  misery.  The  conviction  that  wedlock  is  indissoluble  holds 
out  the  strongest  of  all  temptations  to  the  perverse  :  they  indulge  without 
restraint  in  acrimony,  and  all  the  little  tyrannies  of  domestic  life,  when 
they  know  that  their  victim  is  without  appeal.  If  this  connection  were 
put  on  a  rational  basis,  each  would  be  assured  that  habitual  ill  temper 
would  terminate  in  separation,  and  would  check  this  vicious  and  danger- 
ous propensity. 

Prostitution  is  the  legitimate  offspring  of  marriage  and  its  accompanying 
errors.  Women,  for  no  other  crime  than  having  followed  the  dictates  of  a 
natural  appetite,  are  driven  with  fury  from  the  comforts  and  sympathies 
of  society.  It  is  less  venial  than  murder;  and  the  punishment  which  is 
inflicted  on  her  who  destroys  her  child  to  escape  reproach,  is  lighter  than 
the  life  of  agony  and  disease  to  which  the  prostitute  is  irrecoverably 
doomed.  Has  a  woman  obeyed  the  impulse  of  unerring  nature  ? — society 
declares  war  against  herv  pitiless  and  eternal  war:  she  must  be  the  tame 
slave,  she  must  make  no  reprisals  ;  theirs  is  the  right  of  persecution,  hers 
the  duty  of  endurance.  She  lives  a  life  of  infamy :  the  loud  and  bitter 
laugh  of  scorn  scares  her  from  all  return.  She  dies  of  long  and  lingering 
disease :  yet  she  is  in  fault,  she  is  the  criminal,  she  the  froward  and  untame- 
able  child, — and  society,  forsooth,  the  pure  and  virtuous  matron,  who  casts 
her  as  an  abortion  from  her  undefiled  bosom  !  Society  avenges  herself  on 
the  criminals  of  her  own  creation  ;  she  is  employed  in  anathematizing  the 
vice  to-day,  which  yesterday  she  was  the  most  zealous  to  teach.  Thus  is 
formed  one-tenth  of  the  population  of  London :  meanwhile  the  evil  is  two- 
fold. Young  men,  excluded  by  the  fanatical  idea  of  chastity  from  the 
society  of  modest  and  accomplished  women,  associate  with  these  vicious 
and  miserable  beings,  destroying  thereby  all  those  exquisite  and  delicate 
sensibilities  whose  existence  cold-hearted  wordlings  have  denied ;  annihi- 
lating ali  genuine  passion,  and  debasing  that  to  a  selfish  feeling  which  is 
the  excess  of  generosity  and  devotedness.  Their  body  and  mind  alike 
crumble  into  a  hideous  wreck  of  humanity ;  idiotcy  and  disease  become 
perpetuated  in  their  miserable  offspring,  and  distant  generations  suffer  for 
the  bigotted  morality  of  their  forefathers.  Chastity  is  a  monkish  and 
evangelical  superstition,  a  greater  foe  to  natural  temperance  even  than 
unintellectual  sensuality;  it  strikes  at  the  root  of  all  domestic  happiness, 
and  consigns  more  than  half  of  the  human  race  to  misery,  that  some  few 
may  monopolize  according  to  law.  A  system  could  not  well  have  been 
devised  more  studiously  hostile  to  human  happiness  than  marriage. 

I  conceive  that,  from  the  abolition  of  marriage,  the  fit  and  natural 
arrangement  of  sexual  connection  would  result.  I  by  no  means  assert 
that  the  intercourse  would  be  promiscuous  :  on  the  contrary;  it  appears, 
from  the  relation  of  parent  to  child,  that  this  union  is  generally  of  long 
duration,  and  marked  above  all  others  with  generosity  and  self-devotion. 
But  this  is  a  subject  which  it  is  perhaps  premature  to  discuss.  That  which 
will  result  from  the  abolition  of  marriage,  will  be  natural  and  right,  be 
cause  choice  and  change  will  be  exempted  from  restraint. 


TO  QUEEN  MAB  115 

(ft)  Page  87. 

To  the  red  and  baleful  sun 

That  faintly  twinkles  there. 
The  north  polar  star,  to  which  the  axis  of  the  earth,  in  its  present  state 
of  obliquity,  points.  It  is  exceedingly  probable,  from  many  considerations, 
that  this  obliquity  will  gradually  diminish,  until  the  equator  coincides 
with  the  ecliptic  :  the  nights  and  days  will  then  become  equal  on  the  earth 
throughout  the  year,  and  probably  the  seasons  also.  There  is  no  great 
extravagance  in  presuming  that  the  progress  of  the  perpendicularity  of 
the  poles  may  be  as  rapid  as  the  progress  of  intellect ;  or  that  there  should 
be  a  perfect  identity  between  the  moral  and  physical  improvement  of  the 
human  species.  It  is  certain  that  wisdom  is  not  compatible  with  disease, 
and  that,  in  the  present  state  of  the  climates  of  the  earth,  health,  in  the 
true  and  comprehensive  sense  of  the  word,  is  out  of  the  reach  of  civilized 
man.  Astronomy  teaches  us  that  the  earth  is  now  in  its  progress,  and 
that  the  poles  are  every  year  becoming  more  and  more  perpendicular  to 
the  ecliptic.  The  strong  evidence  afforded  by  the  history  of  mythology, 
and  geological  researches,  that  some  event  of  this  nature  has  taken  place 
already,  affords  a  strong  presumption,  that  this  progress  is  not  merely  an 
oscillation,  as  has  been  surmised  by  some  late  astronomers.*  Bones  of 
animals  peculiar  to  the  torrid  zone  have  been  found  in  the  north  of  Siberia, 
and  on  the  banks  of  the  river  Ohio.  Plants  have  been  found  in  the  fossil 
state  in  the  interior  of  Germany,  which  demand  the  present  climate  of 
Hindostan  for  their  production. t  The  researches  of  M.  Baillyt  establish 
the  existence  of  a  people  who  inhabited  a  tract  of  land  in  Tartary  49  de- 
grees north  latitude,  of  greater  antiquity  than  either  the  Indians,  the 
Chinese,  or  the  Chaldeans,  from  whom  these  nations  derived  their  sciences 
and  theology.  We  find,  from  the  testimony  of  ancient  writers,  that 
Britain,  Germany,  and  France,  were  much  colder  than  at  present,  and 
that  their  great  rivers  were  annually  frozen  over.  Astronomy  teaches  us, 
also,  that  since  this  period  the  obliquity  of  the  earth's  position  has  been 
considerably  diminished. 

(I)  Page  89. 
No  atom  of  this  turbulence  fulfils 
A  vague  and  unnecessitated  task, 
Or  acts  but  as  it  must  and  ought  to  act. 

Two  instances  will  serve  to  render  more  sensible  to  us  the  principle  here 
laid  down  ;  we  will  borrow  one  from  natural,  the  other  from  moral  philo- 
sophy. In  a  whirlwind  of  dust  raised  by  an  impetuous  wind,  however 
confused  it  may  appear  to  our  eyes,  in  the  most  dreadful  tempest  excited 
by  opposing  winds,  which  convulse  the  waves,  there  is  not  a  single  particle 
of  dust  or  of  water  that  is  placed  by  chance,  that  has  not  its  sufficient 
cause  for  occupying  the  situation  in  which  it  is,  and  which  does  not  rigo- 
rously act  in  the  mode  it  should  act.  A  geometrician  who  knew  equally 
the  different  powers  which  operate  in  both  cases,  and  the  properties  of  the 
particles  which  are  propelled,  would  shew  that,  according  to  the  given 
causes,  each  particle  acts  precisely  as  it  should  act,  and  cannot  act  other- 
wise than  it  does. 

In  those  terrible  convulsions  which  sometimes  agitate  political  societies, 
and  which  frequently  bring  on  the  overthrow  of  an  empire,  there  is  not  a 
single  action,  a  single  word,  a  single  thought,  a  single  volition,  a  single 
passion  in  the  agents,  which  concur  in  the  revolution  as  destroyers,  or  as 
victims,  which  is  not  necessary,  which  does  not  act  as  it  should  act,  which 
does  not  infallibly  produce  the  effects  which  it  should  produce,  according 
to  the  place  occupied  by  these  agents  in  the  moral  whirlwind. 

This  would  appear  evident  to  an  intelligence  which  would  be  in  a  state 
to  seize  and  appreciate  all  the  actions  and  re-actions  of  the  minds  and 
bodies  of  those  who  contribute  to  this  revolution. — System  of  Nature,  vol.  i 

*  Laplace,  Systeme  du  Monde. 

f  Cabanis,  Kapnorts  flu  I'h\sii|iic  ci  'In  Moral  de  1' Homme,  vol.  ii.  page  406. 

1  Lettres  sur  les  Sciences,  k  Voltaire Bailly. 


116  NOTES 

(w)  Pace  90. 
Necessity,  thou  mother  of  the  world  ! 

He  who  asserts  the  doctrine  of  Necessity,  means  that,  contemplating 
the  events  which  compose  the  moral  and  material  universe,  he  beholds 
only  an  immense  and  uninterrupted  chain  of  causes  and  effects,  no  one  of 
which  could  occupy  any  other  place  than  it  does  occupy,  or  act  in  any 
other  place  than  it  does  "act.  The  idea  of  necessity  is  obtained  by  our  ex- 
perience of  the  connection  between  objects,  the  uniformity  of  the  opera- 
tions of  nature,  the  constant  conjunction  of  similar  events,  and  the  conse- 
quent inference  of  one  from  the  other.  Mankind  are  therefore  agread  in 
the  admission  of  necessity,  if  they  admit  that  these  two  circumstances  take 
place  in  voluntary  action.  Motive  is,  to  voluntary  action  in  the  human 
mind,  what  cause  is  to  effect  in  the  material  universe.  The  word  liberty, 
as  applied  to  mind,  is  analogous  to  the  word  chance,  as  applied  to  matter : 
they  spring  from  an  ignorance  of  Use  certainty  of  the  conjunction  of  ante- 
cedents and  consequents. 

Every  human  being  i?  irresistibly  impelled  to  act  precisely  as  he  does 
act;  in  the  eternity  which  preceded  his  birth  a  chain  of  causes  was  gene- 
rated, which,  operating  under  the  name  of  motives,  make  it  impossible 
that  any  thought  of  his  mind,  or  any  action  of  his  life,  should  be  otherwise 
than  it  is.  Were  the  doctrine  of  Necessity  false,  the  human  mind  would 
no  longer  be  a  legitimate  object  of  science;  from  like  causes  it  would  be 
in  vain  that  we  should  expect  like  effects ;  the  srongest  motive  would  no 
longer  be  paramount  over  the  conduct ;  all  knowledge  would  be  vague 
and  undeterminate ;  we  could  not  predict  with  any  certainty  that  we 
might  not  meet  as  an  enemy  to-morrow  him  from  whom  we  have  parted 
in  friendship  to-night;  the  most  probable  inducements  and  the  clearest 
reasonings  would  lose  the  invariable  influence  they  possess.  The  contrary 
of  this  is  demonstrably  the  fact.  Similar  circumstances  produce  the  same 
unvariable  effects.  The  precise  character  and  motives  of  any  man  on  any 
occasion  being  given,  the  moral  philosopher  could  predict  Ins  actions  with 
as  much  certainty,  as  the  natural  philosopher  could  predict  the  effects  of 
the  mixture  of  any  particular  chemical  substances.  Why  is  the  aged  hus- 
bandman more  experienced  than  the  young  beginner  >.  Because  there  is 
an  uniform,  undeniable  necessity  in  the  operations  of  the  material  uni- 
verse. Why  is  the  old  statesman  more  skilful  than  the  raw  politician? 
Because,  relying  on  the  necessary  conjunction  of  motive  anC  action,  he 
proceeds  to  produce  moral  effects  by  the  application  of  those  moral  causes 
which  experience  has  shown  to  be  effectual.  Some  actions  may  be  found 
to  which  we  can  attach  no  motives,  but  these  are  the  effects  of  causes  witli 
which  we  are  unacquainted.  Hence  the  relation  which  motive  bears  to 
voluntary  action  is  that  of  cause  to  effect ;  nor,  placed  in  this  point  of  view, 
is  it,  or  ever  has  it  been,  the  subject  of  popular  or  philosophical  dispute. 
None  but  the  few  fanatics  who  are  engaged  in  the  Herculean  task  of  re- 
conciling the  justice  of  their  God  with  the  misery  of  man,  will  longer  out- 
rage common  sense  by  the  supposition  of  an  event  without  a  cause,  a  vo- 
luntary action  without  a  motive.  History,  politics,  morals,  criticism,  all 
grounds  of  reasoning,  all  principles  of  science,  alike  assume  the  truth  of 
the  doctrine  of  Necessity.  No  farmer  carrying  his  corn  to  market  doubts 
the  sale  of  it  at  the  market  price.  The  master  of  a  manufactory  no  more 
doubts  that  he  can  purchase  the  human  labour  necessary  for  his  purposes, 
than  that  his  machinery  will  act  as  they  have  been  accustomed  to  act. 

But  while  none  have" scrupled  to  admit  necessity  as  influencing  matter, 
many  have  disputed  its  dominion  over  mind.  Independently  of  its  mili- 
tating with  the  received  ideas  of  the  justice  of  God,  it  is  by  no  means 
obvious  to  a  superficial  inquiry.  When  the  mind  observes  its  own  opera- 
tions, it  feels  no  connection  of  motive  and  action:  but  as  we  know  "  nothing 
more  of  causation  than  the  constant  conjunction  of  objects,  and  the  conse- 
quent inference  of  one  from  the  other,  as  we  find  that  these  two  circum- 
stances are  universally  allowed  to  have  place  in  voluntary  action,  we  may 
be  easily  led  to  own  that  they  are  subjected  to  the  necessity  common,  to 
all  causes."  The  actions  of  the  will  have  a  regular  conjunction  with  cir- 
cumstances and  characters  ;  motive  is,  to  voluntary  action,  what  canse  is 
to  effect.    But  the  only  idea  we  caiu'or.n  of  causationis  a  constant  conjunc- 


TO  QUEEN  MAB.  117 

tion  of  objects  and  the  consequent  inference  of  one  from  the  other,  as  we 
find  that  these  two  circumstances  are  universally  allowed  to  have  p.aee 
in  voluntary  action,  we  may  be  easily  led  to  own  that  they  are  subjected 
to  the  necessity  common  to  all  causes."  The  actions  of  the  will  have  a 
regular  conjunction  with  circumstances  and  characters  ;  motive  is,  to 
voluntary  action,  what  cause  is  to  effect.  But  the  only  idea  we  can 
form  of  causation  is  a  constant  conjunction  of  similar  objects,  and  the 
consequent  inference  of  one  from  the  other :  wherever  this  is  the  case, 
necessity  is  clearly  established. 

The  idea  of  liberty  applied  metaphorically  to  the  will,  has  sprung  from 
a  misconception  of  the  meaning  of  the  word  power.  What  is  power  .'—;./ 
quod  potest,  that  which  can  produce  any  given  effect.  To  deny  power,  is 
to  say  that  nothing  can  or  has  the  power  to  be  or  act.  In  the  only  true 
sense  of  the  word  power,  it  applies  with  equal  force  to  the  loadstone  as  to 
the  human  will.  Do  you  think  these  motives  which  I  shall  present,  are 
powerful  enough  to  rouse  him  ?  is  a  question  just  as  common  as,  Do  you 
think  this  lever  has  the  power  of  raising  this  weight?  The  advocates  of 
free-will  assert  that  the  will  has  the  power  of  refusing  to  be  determined 
by  the  strongest  motive  :  but  the  strongest  motive  is  that  which,  over- 
coming all  others,  ultimately  prevails  ;  this  assertion  therefore  amounts 
to  a  denial  of  the  will  being  ultimately  determine  I  by  that  motive  which 
does  determine  it,  which  is  absurd.  But  it  is  equally  certain  that  a  man 
cannot  resist  the  strongest  motive,  as  that  he  cannot  overcome  a  physical 
impossibility. 

The  doctrine  of  Necessity  tends  to  introduce  a  great  change  into  the 
established  notions  of  morality,  and  utterly  to  destroy  religion.  Reward 
and  punishment  must  be  considered  by  the  Necessarian,  merely  as  mo- 
tives which  he  would  employ  in  order  to  procure  the  adoption  or  aban- 
donment of  any  given  line  of  conduct.  Desert,  in  the  present  sense  of 
the  word,  would  no  longer  have  any  meaning;  and  he  who  should  in- 
flict pain  upon  another  for  no  better  reason  than  that  he  deserved  it, 
would  only  gratify  his  revenge  under  pretence  of  satisfying  justice.  It  is 
not  enough,  says  the  advocate  of  free-will,  that  a  criminal  should  be  pre- 
vented from  a  repetition  of  his  crime  ;  he  should  feel  pain,  and  his  tor- 
ments, when  justly  inflicted,  ought  precisely  to  be  proportioned  to  his 
fault.  But  utility  is  morality  :  that  which  is  incapable  of  producing  hap- 
piness is  useless  ;  and  though  the  crime  of  Damiens  must  be  condemned, 
yet  the  frightful  torments  which  revenge,  under  the  name  of  justice,  in- 
flicted on  this  unhappy  man,  cannot  be  supposed  to  have  augmented, 
even  at  the  long  run,  the  stock  of  pleasurable  sensation  in  the  world.  At 
the  same  time  the  doctrine  of  Necessity  does  not  in  the  least  diminish 
our  disapprobation  of  vice.  The  conviction  which  all  feel,  that  a  viper  is 
a  poisonous  animal,  and  that  a  tiger  is  constrained,  by  the  inevitable  con- 
dition of  his  existence,  to  devour  men,  does  not  induce  us  to  avoid  them 
less  sedulously,  or  even  more,  to  hesitate  in  destroying  them ;  but  he 
would  surely  be  of  a  hard  heart,  who  meeting  with  a  seipent  on  a  desert 
island,  ot-  in  a  situation  where  it  was  incapable  of  injury,  should  wan- 
tonly deprive  it  of  existence.  A  Necessarian  is  inconsequent  to  his  own 
principles,  if  he  indulges  in  hatred  or  contempt :  the  compassion  which 
he  feels  for  the  criminal  is  unmixed  with  a  desire  of  injuring  him :  he 
looks  with  an  elevated  and  dreadless  composure  upon  the  links  of  the 
universal  chain  as  they  pass  before  his  eyes  :  whilst  cowardice,  curiosity, 
and  inconsistency  only  assail  him  in  proportion  to  the  feebleness  and  in- 
distinctness with  which  he  has  perceived  and  rejected  the  delusions  of 
fee-will. 

Religion  is  the  perception  of  the  relation  in  which  we  stand  to  the 
principle  of  the  universe.  But  if  the  principle  of  the  universe  be  not  an 
organic  being,  the  model  and  prototype  of  man,  the  relation  between  it 
and  human  beings  is  absolutely  none.  Without  some  insight  into  its  will 
respecting  our  actions,  religion  is  nugatory  and  vain.  But  will  is  only  a 
mode  of  animal  mind:  moral  qualities  also  are  such  as  only  a  human 
being  can  possess;  to  attribute  them  to  the  principle  of  the  universe,  is  to 
annex,  to  it  properties  incompatible  with  any  possible  definition  of  its  na- 
ture.    It  is  probable  that  the  word  God  was  originally  only  an  expression 

11 


IIS  NOTES 

denoting  the  unknown  cause  of  the  known  events  which  men  perceived 
in  the  universe.  By  the  vulgar  mistake  of  a  metaphor  for  a  real  being,  of 
a  word  for  a  thing,  it  became  a  man.  endowed  with  human  qualities,  and 
governing  the  universe  as  an  earthly  monarch  governs  his  kingdom. 
Their  ..ddrcsses  to  this  imaginary  being,  indeed,  are  much  in  the  same 
style  as  those  of  subjects  to  a  king.  They  acknowledge  his  benevolence, 
deprecate  his  anger,  and  supplicate  his  favour. 

But  the  doctrine  of  Necessity  teaches  us,  that  in  no  case  could  any 
event  have  happened  otherwise  than  it  did  happen,  and  that,  if  God  is  the 
author  of  good,  he  is  also  tiie  author  of  evil ;  that,  if  he  is  entitled  to  our 
gratitude  for  the  one,  he  is  entitled  to  our  hatred  for  the  other;  that,  ad- 
mitting the  existence  of  this  hypothetic  being,  he  is  also  subjected  to  the 
dominion  of  an  immutable  necessity.  It  is  plain  that  the  same  argu- 
ments which  prove  that  God  is  the  author  of  food,  light,  and  life,  prove 
him  also  to  be  the  author  of  poison,  darkness,  and  death.  The  wide- 
wasting  earthquake,  the  storm,  the  battle,  and  the  tyranny,  are  attributa- 
ble to  this  hypothetic  being  in  the  same  degree  as  the  fairest  forms  of 
nature,  sunshine,  liberty,  and  peace. 

But  we  are  taught,  by  the  doctrine  of  Necessity,  that  there  is  neither 
good  nor  evil  in  the  universe,  otherwise  than  as  the  events  to  which  we 
apply  these  epithets  have  relation  to  our  own  peculiar  mode  of  being. 
Still  less  than  with  the  hypothesis  of  a  God,  will  the  doctrine  of  Necessity 
accord  with  the  belief  of  a  future  state  of  punishment.  God  made  man 
such  as  he  is,  and  then  damned  him  for  being  so :  for  to  say  that  God 
was  the  author  of  all  good,  and  man  the  author  of  all  evil,  is  to  say  that 
one  man  made  a  straight  line  and  a  crooked  one,  and  another  man  made 
the  incongruity. 

A  Mahometan  story,  much  to  the  present  purpose,  is  recorded,  wherein 
Adam  and  Moses  are  introduced  disputing  before  God  in  the  following 
manner.  Thou,  says  Moses,  art  Adam,  whom  God  created,  and  animated 
with  the  breath  of  life,  and  caused  to  be  worshipped  by  the  angels,  and 
placed  in  paradise,  whence  mankind  have  been  expelled  for  thy  fault. 
Whereto  Adam  answered,  Thou  art  Moses,  whom  God  chose  for  his  apos- 
tle, and  entrusted  with  his  word,  by  giving  thee  the  tables  of  the  law,  and 
whom  he  vouchsafed  to  admit  to  discourse  with  himself.  How  many 
years  dost  thou  find  the  law  was  written  before  I  was  created  ?  Says 
Moses,  Forty.  And  dost  thou  not  find,  replied  Adam,  these  words  therein, 
And  Adam  rebelled  against  his  Lord  and  transgressed  ?  Which  Moses 
confessing,  Dost  thou  therefore,  blame'me,  continued  he,  for  doing  that 
which  God  wrote  of  me  that  I  should  do,  forty  years  before  I  was  created; 
nay,  for  what  was  decreed  concerning  me  fifty  thousand  years  before  the 
creation  of  heaven  and  earth? — Sale's  Prelim.  Disc,  lo  the  Koran,  p.  164. 

(n)  Page  91. 
There  is  no  God  ! 

This  negation  must  be  understood  solely  to  affect  a  creative  Deity. 
The  hypothesis  of  a  pervading  Spirit,  co-eternal  with  the  universe,  re- 
mains unshaken. 

A  close  examination  of  the  validity  of  the  proofs  adduced  to  support 
any  proposition,  is  the  only  secure  way  of  attaining  truth,  on  the  advan- 
tages of  which  it  is  unnecessary  to  descant:  our  knowledge  of  the  exist- 
ence of  a  Deity  is  a  subject  of  such  importance,  that  it  cannot  be  too  mi- 
nutely investigated;  in  consequence  of  this  conviction,  we  proceed  briefly 
and  impartially  to  examine  the  proofs  which  have  b<-en  adduced.  It  is 
necessary  first  to  consider  the  nature  of  belief. 

When  a  proposition  is  offered  to  the  mind,  it  perceives  the  agreement 
or  disagreement  of  the  ideas  of  which  it  is  composed.  A  perception  of 
their  agreement  is  termed  belief.  Many  obstacles  frequently  prevent 
this  perception  from  being  immediate ;  these  the  mind  attempts  to  re- 
move, in  order  that  the  perception  may  be  distinct.  The  mind  is  active 
in  the  investigation,  in  order  to  perfect  the  state  of  perception  of  the  rela- 
tion which  the  component  ideas  of  the  proposition  bear  to  each,  which  is 
passive :   die  investigation  being  confused  with  the  perception,  has  in- 


TO  QUEEN  MAB.  119 

duced  many  falsely  to  imagine  that  the  mind  is  active  in  belief, — that 
belief  is  an  act  of  volition, — in  consequence  of  which  it  may  be  regulated 
by  the  mind.  Pursuing,  continuing  this  mistake,  they  have  attached  a 
degree  of  criminality  to  disbelief;  of  which,  in  its  nature,  it  is  incapable  : 
it  is  equally  incapable  of  merit. 

Belief,  then,  is  a  passion,  the  strength  of  which,  like  every  other  pas- 
sion, is  in  precise  proportion  to  the  degrees  of  excitement. 
The  degrees  of  excitement  are  three. 

The  senses  are  the  sources  of  all  knowledge  to  the  mind;  consequently 
their  evidence  claims  the  strongest  assent. 

The  decision  of  the  mind,  founded  upon  our  own  experience,  derived 
from  these  sources,  claims  the  next  degree. 

The  experience  of  others,  which  addresses  itself  to  the  former  one, 
occupies  the  lowest  degree. 

(A  graduated  scale,  on  which  should  be  marked  the  capabilities  of  pro- 
positions to  approach  to  the  test  of  the  senses,  would  be  a  just  barometer 
of  the  belief  which  ought  to  be  attached  to  them.) 

Consequently,  no  testimony  can  be  admitted  which  is  contrary  to  rea- 
son ;  reason  is  founded  on  the  evidence  of  our  senses. 

Every  proof  may  be  referred  to  one  of  these  three  divisions  :  it  is  to  be 
considered  what  arguments  we  receive  from  each  of  them,  which  should 
convince  us  of  the  existence  of  a  Deity. 

1st.  The  evidence  of  the  senses.  If  the  Deity  should  appear  to  us,  if 
he  should  convince  our  senses  of  his  existence,  this  revelation  would  ne- 
cessarily command  belief.  Those  to  whom  the  Deity  has  thus  appeared, 
have  the  strongest  possible  conviction  of  his  existence.  But  the  God  of 
Theologians  is  incapable  of  local  visibility. 

2nd.  Reason.  It  is  urged  that  man  knows  that  whatever  is,  must 
either  have  had  a  beginning,  or  have  existed  from  all  eternity :  he  also 
knows,  that  whatever  is  not  eternal  must  have  had  a  cause.  When  this 
reasoning  is  applied  to  the  universe,  it  is  necessary  to  prove  that  it  was 
created  :  until  that  is  clearly  demonstrated,  we  may  reasonably  suppose 
that  it  has  endured  from  all  eternity.  We  must  prove  design  before  we 
can  infer  a  designer.  The  only  idea  which  we  can  form  of  causation  is 
derivable  from  the  constant  conjunction  of  objects,  and  the  consequent 
inference  of  one  from  the  other.  In  a  case  where  two  propositions  are 
diametrically  opposite,  the  mind  believes  that  which  is  least  incompre- 
hensible ; — it  is  easier  to  suppose  that  the  universe  has  existed  from  all 
eternity,  than  to  conceive  a  being  beyond  its  limits  capable  ofcreating.it: 
if  the  mind  sinks  beneath  the  weight  of  one,  is  it  an  alleviation  to  increase 
the  intolerability  of  the  burthen? 

The  other  argument,  which  is  founded  on  a  man's  knowledge  of  his 
own  existence,  stands  thus.  A  man  knows  not  only  that  he  now  is,  but 
that  once  he  was  not ;  consequently,  there  must  have  been  a  cause.  But 
our  idea  of  causation  is  alone  derivable  from  the  constant  conjunction  of 
objects,  and  the  consequent  inference  of  one  from  the  other;  and,  reason- 
ing experimentally,  we  can  only  infer  from  effects,  causes  exactly  ade- 
quate to  those  effects.  But  there  certainly  is  a  generative  power  which  is 
effected  by  certain  instruments  :  we  cannot  prove  that  it  is  inherent  in 
these  instruments  ;  nor  is  the  contrary  hypothesis  capable  of  demonstra- 
tion ;  we  admit  that  the  generative  power  is  incomprehensible;  but  to 
suppose  that  the  same  effect  is  produced  by  an  eternal,  omniscient,  omni- 
potent being,  leaves  the  cause  in  the  same  obscurity,  but  renders  it  more 
incomprehensible. 

3rd.  Testimony.  It  is  required  that  testimony  should  not  be  contrary 
to  reason.  The  testimony  that  the  Deity  convinces  the  senses  of  men  of 
his  existence,  can  only  be  admitted  by  us,  if  our  mind  considers  it  less 
probable  that  these  men  should  have  been  deceived,  than  that  the  Deity 
should  have  appeared  to  them.  Our  reason  can  never  admit  the  testi- 
mony of  men,  who  not  only  declare  that  they  were  eye-witnesses  of  mira- 
cles, but  that  the  Deity  was  irrational  ;  ''or  he  commanded  that  he  should 
be  believed;  he  proposed  the  highest  rewards  for  faith  ;  eternal  punish- 
ments for  disbelief.  We  can  only  command  voluntary  actions  ;  belief  is 
not  an  act  of  volition  ;   the  mind  is  even  passive,  or  involuntarily  active  : 


120  NOTES 

from  this  it  is  evident  that  we  have  no  sufficient  testimony,  or  rather,  that 
testimony  is  insufficient  to  prove  the  being  of  a  God.  It  has  been  before 
shewn  that  it  cannot  cannot  be  deduced  from  reason.  They  alone,  then, 
who  have  been  convinced  by  the  evidence  of  the  senses  can  believe  it. 

Hence  it  is  evident  that,  having  no  proofs  from  either  of  the  three  sources 
of  conviction,  the  mind  cannot  believe  the  existence  of  a  creative  God ; 
it  is  also  evident,  that,  as  belief  is  a  passion  of  the  mind,  no  degree  of 
criminality  is  attach  ible  to  disbelief;  and  that  they  only  are  reprehensi- 
ble who  neglect  to  remove  the  false  medium  through  which  their  mind 
views  any  subject  of  discussion.  Every  reflecting  mind  must  acknow- 
ledge that  there  is  no  proof  of  the  existence  of  a  Deity. 

Gud  is  an  hypothesis,  and  as  such,  stands  in  needs  of  proof:  the  onus 
probandi  *  rests  on  the  theist.  Sir  Isaac  Newton  says  :  "  Hypotheses  non 
fmgo,  quicquid  enim  ex  phrsnomenis  non  deducitur,  hypothesis  vocanda 
est,  et  hypothesis  vel  meta  physics,  vel  physics,  vel  qualitatum  occulta- 
ruon,  seu  mechanics,  in  philosophia  locum  non  habent."t  To  all  proofs 
of  the  existence  of  a  creative  God  apply  this  valuable  rule.  We  see  a 
variety  of  bodies  possessing  a  variety  of  powers  :  we  merely  know  their 
effects  ;  we  are  in  a  state  of  ignorance  with  respect  to  their  essences  and 
causes.  These  Newton  calls  the  phenomena  of  things;  but  the  pride  of 
philosophy  is  unwilling  to  admit  its  ignorance  of  their  causes.  From  the 
phenomena,  which  are  the  objects  of  our  senses,  we  attempt  to  infer  a 
cause,  which  we  call  God,  and  gratuitously  endow  it  with  all  negative 
and  contradictory  qualities.  From  this  hypothesis  we  invent  this  general 
name,  to  conceal  our  ignorance  of  causes  and  essences.  The  being  called 
God  by  no  means  answers  with  the  conditions  prescribed  by  Newton  ; 
it  bears  everv  mark  of  a  veil  woven  by  philosophical  conceit,  to  hide  the 
ignorance  of  philosophers  even  from  themselves.  They  borrow  the 
threads  of  its  texture  from  the  anthropomorphism  of  the  vulgar.  Words 
iave  been  used  by  sophists  for  the  same  purposes,  from  the  occult  qua- 
lities of  the  peripatetics  to  the  effluvium  of  Boyle,  and  the  crinities  or 
nebula  of  Herschel.  God  is  represented  as  infinite,  eternal,  incompre- 
hensible ;  he  is  contained  under  every  predicate  in  non  that  the  logic  of 
ignorance  could  fabricate.  Even  his  worshippers  allow  that  it  is  impos- 
sible to  form  any  idea  of  him  :  they  exclaim  with  the  French  poet, 

Pour  dire  ce  qu'il  est,  ilfaut  etre  lui-meme.% 

Eord  Bacon  says,  that  "  atheism  leaves  to  man  reason,  philosophy, 
natural  piety,  laws,  reputation,  and  every  thing  that  can  serve  to  conduct 
him  to  virtue ;  but  superstition  destroys  all  these,  and  erects  itself  into 
a  tyranny  over  the  understandings  of  men  :  hence  atheism  never  dis- 
turbs the  government,  but  renders  man  more  clear-sighted,  since  he  sees 
nothing  beyond  the  boundaries  of  the  present  life.'  —  Bacon's  Mural 
Essays. 

The  primary  theology  of  man  made  him  first  fear  and  worship  even  the 
elements,  gross  and  material  objects,  he  then  paid  his  adorations  to  the 
presiding  agents  of  the  elements,  to  inferior  genii,  to  heroes,  or  to  men 
endowed  with  great  qualities.  By  continuing  to  reflect  he  thought  to 
ii-jiplify  things,  by  submitting  all  nature  to  a  single  agent,  to  a  spirit,  to 
an  universal  soul.'whieh  put  this  nature  and  its  parts  into'motion.  In  a  .- 
cending  from  cause  to  cause,  mankind  have  ended  by  seeing  nothing,  and 
it  is  in  the  midst  of  this  obscurity  that  they  have  placed  their  God  :  it  is 
in  this  dark  abyss  that  their  restless  imagination  is  always  labouring  to 
form  chimeras,  which  will  afflict  them,  until  a  knowledge  of  nature  shall 
dissipate  the  phantoms  which  they  have  always  so  vainly  adored. 

If  we  wish  to  render  an  account  to  ourselves,  of  our  ideas  respecting 
the  Deity,  we  shall  be  obliged  to  confess  that  by  the  word  God,  men  have 
never  been  able  to  designate  any  thing  else  but  the  most  hidden,  the 

*  The  burthen  of  proof. 

+  I  do  not  invent  hvpotheses  ,  fur  w  bate  or  is  nol  deduced  from  phenomena,  is  to 

toe  call-d    an    hypothesis ;    anil    hvpotheses.   ciiher  metaplnsuai   ;.r  physical,    » 

frroun.l.'d  uu  occult  qualilu's.  shnr.lcl  nut  lie  aauv.oil  any  room  in  philosophy. 

J  To  tell  what  he  is.  J  ou  must  be  himself. 


TO  QUEEN  MAB.  121 

most  remote,  the  most  unknown  cause  of  the  effects  which  they  perceive  ; 
they  only  make  use  of  this  word,  when  the  springs  of  natural  and  known 
causes  cease  to  be  visible  to  them  ;  the  instant  they  loose  the  thread,  or 
their  understanding  can  no  longer  follow  the  chain  of  these  causes,  they 
cut  the  knot  of  their  difficulty,  and  terminate  their  researches  by  calling 
God  the  last  of  these  causes,  that  is  to  say,  that  which  is  beyond  all  the 
causes  with  which  they  are  acquainted.  Thus  they  merely  assign  a  vague 
denomination  to  an  unknown  cause,  at  which  their  indolence  or  the  limits 
of  their  information  compels  them  to  stop.  'Whenever  we  are  told,  that 
God  is  the  author  of  any  phenomenon,  that  signifies  that  we  are  ignorant 
how  such  a  phenomenon  can  be  produced,  with  the  assistance  only  of  the 
natural  powers  or  causes  with  which  we  are  acquainted.  It  is  thus  that 
the  generality  of  mankind,  whose  lot  is  ignorance,  attribute  to  the  Deity, 
not  only  the  uncommon  effects  which  strike  them,  but  even  the  most 
simple  events,  whose  causes  are  the  most  easily  discoverable,  to  all  who 
have  had  the  opportunity  of  reflecting  on  them.  In  a  word,  man  has  al- 
ways respected  the  unknown  causes  of  those  surprising  effects,  which  his 
ignorance  prevented  him  from  unravelling.  It  was  upon  the  ruins  of  na- 
ture that  men  first  raised  the  imaginary  colossus  of  a  Deity. 

If  the  ignorance  of  nature  gave  birth  to  gods,  a  knowledge  of  nature  is 
calculated  to  destroy  them.  In  proportion  as  man  becomes  informed,  his 
powers  and  resources  increase  with  his  knowledge,  the  sciences,  the  con- 
servative arts,  and  industry  furnish  him  with  assistance,  experience  in- 
spires him  with  confidence,  or  procures  him  the  means  of  resisting  the 
efforts  of  many  causes,  which  cease  to  alarm  him,  as  soon  as  he  becomes 
acquainted  with  them.  In  a  word,  his  terrors  are  dissipated  in  the  same 
proportion  as  his  mind  is  enlightened.  A  well-informed  man  ceases  to  be 
superstitious. 

It  is  never  but  on  trust,  that  whole  nations  worship  the  God  of  their 
fathers  and  their  priests  ;  authority,  confidence,  submission,  and  custom, 
to  them  supply  the  place  of  proofs  and  conviction  ;  they  prostrate  them- 
selves and  pray,  because  their  fathers  have  taught  them  to  prostrate 
themselves  and  pray,  but  wherefore  did  the  latter  kneel  ?  Because,  in 
remote  periods,  their  guides  and  legislators  taught  them  it  was  a  duty. 
"  Worship  and  believe,"  said  they,  "  gods  which  you  cannot  comprehend, 
rely  on  our  profound  wisdom,  we  know  more  than  you  concerning  the 
Deity."  "  But  why  should  I  rely  on  you?"  "Because  it  is  the  will  of 
God  ;  because  he  will  punish  you  if  you  dare  to  resist."  "  But  is  not  this 
God  the  thing  in  question  ?"  Thus  men  have  always  been  satisfied  with 
this  vicious  circle,  the  indolence  of  their  minds  led  them  to  believe  the 
shorter  mode  was  to  rely  on  the  opinions  of  others.  All  religious  notions 
are  founded  upon  authority  alone,  all  the  religions  of  the  world  forbid 
investigation,  and  will  not  permit  reasoning :  it  is  authority  which  re- 
quires us  to  believe  in  God,  this  God  himself  is  only  founded  upon  the 
authority  of  some  men  who  pretend  to  know  him,  and  to  be  sent  by  him 
to  announce  him  to  the  world.  A  God  made  by  men  has,  doubtless,  need 
of  men  to  make  him  known  to  men. 

It  is,  then,  only  for  the  priests  of  the  inspired,  for  metaphysicians,  that 
a  conviction  of  the  existence  of  a  God  is  reserved,  and  which  is,  neverthe- 
less, said  to  be  necessary  to  all  mankind.  But  do  we  find  a  harmony  of 
theological  opinion  among  the  inspired,  or  the  reflective,  in  the  different 
parts  of  the  world  ?  Are  those,  even,  who  profess  to  worship  the  same 
God  agreed  respecting  him  1  Are  they  satisfied  with  the  proofs  of  his 
existence  which  their  colleagues  bring  forward  1  Do  they  unanimously 
subscribe  to  the  ideas  which  they  adduce  respecting  his  nature,  his  con- 
duct, and  the  mode  of  understanding  his  pretended  oracles  ?  Is  there  a 
country,  throughout  the  earth,  in  which  the  knowledge  of  God  is  really 
perfected  ?  Has  it  assumed  in  any  quarter  the  consistency  and  unifor- 
mity which  wo  perceive  human  knowledge  to  have  assumed  in  the  most 
trifling  arts,  in  trades  the  most  despised  ?  The  words  spirit,  immate- 
riality, creation,  predestination,  grace — this  crowd  of  subtle  distinctions 
with  which  theology,  in  some  countries,  is  universally  filled — these  inge- 
nious inventions,  imagined  by  the  successive  reasouers  of  ages,  have, 
alas !  only  embroiled  the  question,  and  never  has  the  science  the  most 
11* 


122  NOTES 

important  to  mankind  been  able  to  acquire  the  least  stability.     For  thou- 

-   :hese  idle   dreamers  transmitted   to  each   ot'.ier  the 

tating  on  the  Deity, -of  discovering  his  secret  paths,  of  invent- 

:   culated  to  solve   this  important   enigma.     The  little 

success  tltej  hare  met  with  has  not  discouraged  theological  vanity.     God 

has  always   been   t.dkcd   of,   mankind  have  cut  each  other's  throat  for 

hi;n.  and  this  great  Heing  still  continues  to  be   the  most  unknown,  and 

the  must  sought  after. 

Fortunate  would  it  have  been  for  mankind,  if.  confining  themselves  to 
the  visible  objects  in  which  they  are  interested,  they  had  employed  in 
perfecting  true  science,  laws,  morals,  and  education,  half  the  exertions 
they  have  made  in  their  researches  after  a  Deity.  They  would  have  been 
still  wiser  and  more  fortunate,  could  they  have  resolved  to  leave  their 
biind  guides  to  quarrel  among  themselves,  and  to  sound  the  de]  ths  cal- 
culated only  to  turn  their  brains,  without  meddling  with  their  senseless 
disputes.  But  it  is  the  very  essence  of  ignorance  to  attach  im]  ortance 
to  what  it  does  not  understand.  Human  vanity  is  such,  that  the  mind 
becomes  irritated  by  difficulty.  In  proportion  as  an  object  fades  from 
our  sight  do  we  exert  ourselves  to  seize  it.  because  it  then  stimulates  our 
pride,  it  excites  our  curiosity,  and  becomes  interesting.  In  contending 
for  his  God,  e\ery  one,  in  fact,  is  only  contending  for  the  interests  id'  ins 
own  vanity,  which,  of  all  the  passions  produced  by  the  mal-organization 
of  society,  is  the  most  prompt  to  take  alarm,  and  the  most  calculated  to 
give  birth  to  great  absurdities. 

If,  laying  aside  for  a  moment  the  gloomy  ideas  which  theology  gives  us 
of  a  capricious  God,  whose  partial  and  despotic  decrees  decide  the  fates 
of  men,  we  fix  our  eyes  upon  the  pretended  goodness  which  all  men, 
even  whilst  trembling  before  this  God,  agree  in  giving  to  him,  if  we  sup- 
pose him  to  be  actuated  by  the  project  which  is  attributed  to  him,  of 
having  only  laboured  for  his  own  glory,  of  exacting  the  adoration  of  in- 
telligent beings,  of  seeking  only  in  his  works  the  welfare  of  the  human 
race,  how  can  we  reconcile  his  views  and  dispositions  with  the  truly  in- 
vincible ignorance  in  which  this  God,  so  good  and  glorious,  leaves  the 
greater  part  of  mankind  respecting  himself?  If  God  wishes  to  be  known, 
beloved,  and  praised,  why  does  he  not  reveal  himself,  under  some  fa- 
vourable features,  to  all  those  intelligent  beings  by  whom  he  wishes  to  be 
loved  and  worshipped  ?  Why  does  he  not  manifest  to  all  the  earth  in 
an  unequivocal  manner,  much  more  calculated  to  convince  us,  than  by 
these  particular  revelations,  which  seem  to  accuse  the  De;ty  of  an  unjust 
partiality  for  some  of  his  creatures.  Would  not  the  omnipotent  possess 
more  convincing  means  of  revealing  himself  to  mankind  than  these  ridi- 
culous metamorphoses,  these  pretended  incarnations,  which  are  attested 
to  us  by  writers  wdio  so  little  agree  among  themselves  in  the  recitals  they 
give  of  them  ?  Instead  of  so  many  miracles  invented  to  prove  the  divine 
mission,  of  so  many  legislators  revered  by  the  different  nations  of  the 
world,  could  not  the  supreme  Being  convince  in  an  instant  the  human 
mind  of  the  tilings  which  he  chose  to  make  known  to  it.'  Instead  of  sus- 
pending the  sun  in  the  vault  of  the  firmament,  instead  of  dispersing  the 
stars  and  the  constellations,  which  occupy  space  without  older,  would 
it  not  have  been  more  conformable  to  the  views  of  a  God  so  jealous  of 
his  glory,  and  so  well  disposed  to  man,  to  write,  in  a  mode  not  liable  to 
be  disputed,  his  name,  his  attributes,  and  his  unchangeable  will,  in  ever- 
lasting characters,  equallv  legible  to  all  the  inhabitants  of  the  earth  .'  No 
one  could  then  have  doubted  the  existence  of  a  God,  his  manifest  will, 
his  visible  intentions.  Under  the  eye  of  this  terrible  Deity,  no  one 
would  have  had  the  audacity  to  violate  his  ordinances,  no  mortal  would 
have  dared  to  place  himself  in  the  situation  of  drawing  down  his  wrath; 
and,  lastly,  no  man  would  have  had  the  effrontery  to  impose  on  his  fel- 
low-creatures, in  the  name  of  the  Deity,  or  to  interpret  his  will  according 
to  his  own  fancy. 

In  fact,  even  should  the  existence  of  the  theological  God  be  admitted, 
and  the  reality  of  the  discordant  attributes  which  are  given  to  him,  no- 
thing could  be  inferred  from  it,  to  authorise  the  conduct  or  the  modes  of 
worship  which  we  are  told  to  observe  towards  him.     Theology  is  truly 


TO  QUEEN  MAB.  123 

the  tub  of  the  Danaides.  By  dint  of  contradictory  qualities  and  rash  as- 
sertions, it  has  so  trammelled,  as  it  were,  its  God,  that  it  has  made  it 
impossible  for  him  to  act.  If  he  is  infinitely  good,  what  reason  have  we 
to  fear  him »  If  he  is  infinitely  wise,  why  should  we  be  uneasy  for  our 
future  state  ?  If  he  knows  all,  why  inform  him  of  our  wants,  and  teare 
him  with  our  prayers  .'  If  he  is  omnipresent,  why  raise  Umplcs  to  him  ? 
If  he  is  master  of  all,  why  sacrifice  and  make  offerings  to  him?  If  lie  is 
just,  how  can  we  believe  that  he  punishes  creatures  whom  he  has  afflicted 
with  weaknesses?  If  grace  does  all  in  them,  for  what  reason  should  he 
reward  them?  If  he  is  omnipotent,  how  can  we  offend,  how  resist  him? 
If  he  is  reasonable,  how  could  he  be  incensed  against  his  blind  creatures, 
to  v.hom  he  has  only  left  the  liberty  of  falling  into  error  ?  If  lie  is  im 
mutable,  by  what  right  do  we  pretend  to  make  him  change  his  decrees? 
If  he  is  incomprehensible,  why  do  we  busy  ourselves  in  endeavouring  to 
understand  him?  If  he  has  spoken,  why  is  not  the  universe 
CONVINCED  ?  If  the  knowledge  '"a  God  is  the  most  necessary,  why  is  it 
not  the  clearest  and  most  evident? — System  of  Nature,  London,  1781. 

The  enlightened  and  benevolent  Pliny  thus  publicly  professes  him- 
self an  atheist: 

For  which  reason,  I  consider  that  the  inquiry  after  the  form  and  figure 
of  the  Deity,  must  be  attributed  to  human  weakness.  Whatever  God 
may  be  (if  indeed  there  be  one),  and  wherever  he  may  exist,  he  must  be 
all  sense,  all  sight,  all  hearing,  all  life,  all  mind,  self-existent.  *  *  *  * 
But  it  is  a  great  consolation  to  man,  with  all  his  infirmities,  to  reflect 
that  God  himself  cannot  do  all  things:  for  he  cannot  inflict  on  himself 
death,  even  if  he  should  wish  to  die,  that  best  of  gifts  to  man  amidst  the 
cares  and  sufferii.gs  of  life  ;  neither  can  lie  make  men  eternal,  nor  raise 
the  dead,  nor  prevent  those  who  have  lived  from  living,  nor  those  whe 
have  borne  honours  from  wearing  them  ;  he  has  no  power  over  the  past, 
except  that  of  oblivion,  and  (to  relax  our  gravity  awhile  and  indulge  in  a 
joke)  he  cannot  prevent  twice  ten  from  being  twenty,  and  many  other 
things  of  a  similar  nature.  From  these  observations,  it  is  clearly  appa- 
rent that  the  powers  of  nature  are  what  we  call  God. — I'lin.  Nat.  Hist. 

The  consistent  Newtonian  is  necessarily  an  atheist.  See  Sir  W.  Drum- 
mond's  Academical  Questions,  chap.  iii. — Sir  W.  seems  to  consider  the 
atheism  to  which  it  leads,  as  a  sufficient  presumption  of  the  falsehood  of 
the  system  of  gravitation ;  but,  surely,  it  is  more  consistent  with  the  good 
faith  of  philosophy  to  admit  a  deduction  from  facts,  than  an  hypothesis 
incapable  of  proof,  although  it  might  militate  with  the  obstinate  precon- 
ceptions of  the  mob.  Had  this  author,  instead  of  inveighing  against  the 
guilt  and  absurdity,  of  atheism,  demonstrated  its  falsehood,  his  conduct 
would  have  been  more  suited  to  the  modesty  of  the  sceptic,  and  the  tole- 
ration of  the  philosopher. 

All  things  are  made  by  the  power  of  God,  yet,  doubtless,  because  the 
power  of  nature  is  the  power  of  God ;  besides,  we  are  unable  to  under- 
stand the  power  of  God,  so  far  as  we  are  ignorant  of  natural  causes; 
therefore,  we  foolishly  recur  to  the  power  of  God  whenever  we  are  unac- 
quainted with  the  natural  cause  of  any  thing,  or,  in  other  words,  with  the 
power  of  God. — Spinosa,  Tract.  Tlieoloyico.  Pol.  chap.  i.  p.  14. 

(o)  Page  93. 
Ahasuerus,  rise! 

"  Ahasuerus,  the  Jew,  crept  forth  from  the  dark  cave  of  Mount  Car- 
mel.  Near  two  thousand  years  have  elapsed  since  he  was  first  goaded  by 
never-ending  restlessness  to  rove  the  globe  from  pole  to  pole.  When  our 
Lord  was  wearied  with  the  burthen  of  his  cross,  and  wanted  to  rest  before 
the  door  of  Ahasuerus,  the  unfeeling  wretch  drove  him  away  with  brutal- 
ity. The  Saviour  of  mankind  staggered,  sinking  under  the  heavy  load, 
but  uttered  no  complaint.  An  angel  of  death  appeared  before  Ahasue- 
rus, and  exclaimed,  indignantly,  '  Barbarian!  thou  hast  denied  rest  to 
the  Son  of  Man  :  be  it  denied  thee  also,  until  he  comes  to  judge  the 
world.' 

"  A  black  demon,  let  loose  from  hell  upon  Ahasuerus,  goads  him  now 


124  NOTES 

from  country  to  country:  lie  is  denied  the  consolation  which  death  af- 
fords, and  precluded  from  the  rest  of  the  peaceful  grave. 

"  Ahasuerus  crept  forth  from  the  dark  cave  of  Mount  Carmel ;  he 
shook  the  dust  from  his  beard;  and  taking  up  one  of  the  skulls  heaped 
there,  hurled  it  down  the  eminence :  it  rebounded  from  the  earth  in  shi- 
vered atoms.  '  This  was  my  father !'  roared  Ahasuerus.  Seven  more 
skulls  rolled  down  from  rock  to  rock;  while  the  infuriate  Jew,  following 
them  with  ghastly  looks,  exclaimed,  '  And  these  were  my  wives  !'  He 
still  continued  to  hurl  down  skull  after  skull,  roaring  in  dreadful  accents, 
'And  these — and  these — and  these  were  my  children  !  They  could  die ; 
but  I !  reprobate  wretch  ;  alas!  I  cannot  die!  Dreadful,  beyond  concep- 
tion, is  the  judgment  that  hangs  ever  me.  Jerusalem  fell ;  I  crushed  the 
sucking  babe,  and  precipitated  myself  into  the  destructive  names.  I 
cursed  the  Romans;  but  alas!  alas!  the  restless  curse  held  me  by  the 
hair — and  I  could  not  die ! 

"  '  Rome,  the  giantess,  fell;  I  placed  myself  before  the  falling  statua  ; 
she  fell ;  and  did  not  crush  me  !  Nations  sprung  up,  and  disappeared  be- 
fore me  ;  but  I  remained — and  did  not  die.  From  cloud-encircled  cliffs 
did  I  precipitate  myself  into  the  ocean  ;  but  the  foaming  billows  cast  me 
upon  the  shore,  and  the  burning  arrow  of  existence  pierced  my  cold 
heart  again.  I  leaped  into  Etna's  flaming  abyss,  and  roared  with  the 
giants  for  ten  long  months  polluting,  with  my  groans,  the  Mount's  snl- 
phureous  mouth;  ah,  ten  long  months!  The  volcano  fermented,  and, 
in  a  fiery  stream  of  lava,  cast  me  up.  I  lay,  torn  by  the  torture- 
snakes  of  hell,  antid  the  glowing  cinders,  and  yet  continued  to  exist.  A 
forest  was  on  fire :  I  darted,  on  wings  of  fury  and  despair,  into  the  crack- 
ling wood.  Fire  dropped  upon  me  from  the  trees,  but  the  flames  only 
singed  my  limbs  ;  alas  !  it  could  not  consume  them.  I  now  mixed  with 
the  butchers  of  mankind,  and  plunged  in  the  tempest  of  the  laging  bat- 
tle. 1  roared  defiance  to  the  infuriate  Gaul — defiance  to  the  victorious 
German ;  but  arrows  and  spears  rebounded  in  shivers  from  my  body 
The  Saracen's  flaming  sword  broke  upon  my  skull ;  balls,  in  vain,  hissed 
upon  me;  the  lightnings  of  battle  glared  harmless  around  my  loins;  in 
vain  did  the  elephant  trample  on  me,  in  vain  the  iron  hoof  of  the  wrath- 
ful steed!  The  mine,  big  with  destructive  power,  burst  upon  me.  and 
hurled  me  high  in  the  air;  1  fell  on  heaps  of  smoking  limbs,  but  was  only 
singed.  The  giant's  steel  club  rebounded  from  my  body  ;  the  execution- 
er's hand  could  not  strangle  me  ;  the  tiger's  tooth  could  not  pierce  me ; 
nor  would  the  hungry  lion  in  the  circus  devour  me.  1  cohabited  with 
poisonous  snakes,  and  pinched  the  red  crest  of  the  dragon.  The  serpent 
stung,  but  could  not  destroy  me  ;  the  dragon  tormented,  but  dared  not 
to  devour  me.  I  now  provoked  the  fury  of  tyrants  :  I  said  to  Nero — 
Thou  art  a  bloodhound  !  I  said  to  Chnstiern — Thou  art  a  bloodhound! 
I  said  to  Muley  Ismail — Thou  art  a  bloodhound!     5*he  tyrants  invented 

cruel  torments,  but  did  not  kill  me. Ha !  not  to  be  able  to  die 

—  not  to  be  able  to  die — not  to  be  permitted  to  rest  after  the  toils  of  life 
— to  be  doomed  to  be  imprisoned  for  ever  in  the  clay-formed  dungeon — 
to  be  for  ever  clogged  with  this  worthless  body,  its  load  of  diseases  and 
infirmities — to  be  condemned  to  hold,  for  milleniums,  that  yawning  mon- 
ster, Sameness;  and  Time,  that  hungry  hyena,  ever  bearing  children, 
and  ever  devouring  again  her  offspring !  Ha !  not  to  be  permitted  to 
die  !  Awful  avenger  in  heaven!  hast  thou  in  thine  armoury  of  wrath  a 
punishment  more  dreadful  ? — then  let  it  thunder  upon  me  ;  "command  a 
hurricane  to  sweep  me  down  to  the  foot  of  Car.  iel,  that  I  there  may  lie 
extended  ;  may  pant — and  writhe — and  die  !'  " 

This  fragment  is  the  translation  of  part  of  some  German  work,  whose 
title  I  have  vainly  endeavoured  to  discover.  I  picked  it  up,  dirty,  and 
torn,  some  years  ago,  in  Lincoln's-inn-fields. 

(p)  Page  94. 
/  will  beget  a  Son,  and  he  shall  bear 
The  sins  of  all  the  world. 
A  book  is  put  into  our  hands  when  children,  called  the  Bible,  the  pui* 


TO  QUEEN  MAB.  125 

port  of  whose  history  is  briefly  this  : — That  God  made  the  earth  in  six 
days,  and  there  planted  a  delightful  garden,  in  which  he  placed  the  first 
pair  of  human  beings.  In  the  midst  of  the  garden  he  planted  a  tree, 
whose  fruit,  although  within  their  reach,  they  were  forbidden  to  touch. 
That  the  Devil,  in  the  shape  of  a  snake,  persuaded  them  to  cat  of  this 
fruit;  in  consequence  of  which,  God  condemned  both  them,  and  their 
posterity  yet  unbo-n,  to  satisfy  his  justice  by  their  eternal  misery.  That, 
four  thousand  years  after  these  events  (the  human  race  in  the  mean 
while  having  gone,  unredeemed,  to  perdition),  God  engendered  with  the 
betrothed  wife  of  a  carpenter  in  Judea  (whose  virginity  was  neverthe- 
less, uninjured),  and  begat  a  Son,  whose  name  was  Jesus  Christ;  and  who 
was  crucified,  and  died,  in  order  that  no  more  men  might  be  devoted  to 
hell-fire,  he  bearing  the  burthen  of  his  Father's  displeasure  by  proxy. 
The  book  states,  in  addition,  that  the  soul  of  whoever  disbelieves  this 
sacrifice  will  be  burned  with  everlasting  fire. 

During  many  ages  of  misery  and  darkness  this  story  gained  implicit 
belief;  but,  at  length,  men  arose  who  suspected  that  it  was  a  fable  and 
imposture,  and  that  Jesus  Christ,  so  far  from  being  a  God,  was  only  a 
man  like  themselves.  But  a  numerous  set  of  men,  who  derived,  and 
still  derive  immense  emoluments  from  this  opinion,  in  the  the  shape  of  a 
popular  belief,  told  the  vulgar  that,  if  they  did  not  believe  in  the  Bible, 
they  would  be  damned  to  all  eternity ;  and  burned,  imprisoned,  and 
poisoned  all  the  unbiassed  and  unconnected  inquirers  who  occasionally 
arose.  They  st.il  oppress  them,  so  far  as  the  people,  now  become  more 
enlightened,  will  allow. 

The  belief  in  all  that  the  Bible  contains,  is  called  Christianity.  A  Ro- 
man governor  of  Judea,  at  the  instances  of  a  priest-led  mob,  crucified  a 
man  called  Jesus,  eighteen  centuries  ago.  He  was  a  man  of  pure  life, 
who  desired  to  rescue  his  countrymen  from  the  tyranny  of  their  barba- 
rous and  degrading  superstitions.  The  common  fate  of  all  who  desire  to 
benefit  mankind  awaited  him.  The  rabble,  at  the  instigation  of  the 
priests,  demanded  his  death,  although  his  very  judge  made  public  ac- 
knowledgement of  his  innocence.  Jesus  was  sacrificed  to  the  honour  of 
that  God  with  whom  he  was  afterwards  confounded.  It  is  of  import- 
ance, therefore,  to  distinguish  between  the  pretended  character  of  this 
being  as  the  Son  of  God  and  the  Saviour  of  the  world,  and  his  real  cha- 
racter as  a  man,  who,  for  a  vain  attempt  to  reform  the  world,  paid  the 
forfeit  of  his  life  to  that  overbearing  tyranny  which  has  since  so  long 
desolated  the  r>nverse  in  his  name.  Whilst  the  one  is  a  hypocritical 
demon,  who  announces  himself  as  the  God  of  compassion  and  peace, 
even  whilst  he  stretches  forth  his  blood  red  hand  with  the  sword  of  dis- 
cord to  waste  the  earth,  having  confessedly  devised  this  scheme  of  deso- 
lation from  eternity;  the  other  stands  in  the  foremost  list  of  those  true 
heroes  who  have  died  in  the  glorious  martyrdom  of  liberty,  and  have 
braved  torture,  contempt,  and  poverty,  in  the  cause  of  suffering  hu- 
manity.* 

The  vulgar,  ever  in  extremes,  became  persuaded  that  the  crucifixion  of 
Jesus  was  a  supernatural  event.  Testimonies  of  miracles,  so  frequent  in 
unenlightened  ages,  were  not  wanting  to  prove  that  he  was  something 
divine.  This  belief,  rolling  through  the  lapse  of  ages,  met  with  the  re- 
veries of  Plato  and  the  reasonings  of  Aristotle,  and  acquired  force  and 
extent,  until  the  divinity  of  Jesus  became  a  dogma,  which  to  dispute  was 
death,  which  to  doubt  was  infamy. 

Christianity  is  now  the  established  religion:  he  who  attempts  to  im- 
pugn it,  must  be  contented  to  behold  murderers  and  traitors  take  pre- 
cedence of  him  in  public  opinion  ;  though,  if  his  genius  be  equal  to  his 
courage,  and  assisted  by  a  peculiar  coalition  of  circumstances,  future 
ages  may  exalt  him  to  a  divinity,  and  persecute  others  in  his  name,  as  he 
was  persecuted  in  the  name  of  his  predecessor  in  the  homage  of  the 
world. 

The  same  means  that  have  supported  every  other  popular  belief,  have 

*  Since  writing  the  above  note,  I  have  feen  reason  to  suspect,  that  Jesus  was  an 
ambitious  man,  who  aspired  to  the  throne  of  Judea. 


126  NOTES 

supported  Christianity.  War,  imprisonment,  assassination,  and  false- 
hood ;  deeds  of  unexampled  and  incomparable  atrocity  have  made  it 
what  it  is.  The  blood  shed  by  the  votaries  of  the  God  of  mercy  and 
peace,  since  the  establishment  of  his  religion,  would  probably  suffice  to 
drown  all  other  sectaries  now  on  the  habitable  globe.  We  derive  from 
our  ancestors  a  faith  thus  fostered  and  supported :  we  quarrel,  persecute, 
and  hate  for  its  maintenance.  Even  under  a  government  which,  whilst 
it  infringes  the  very  right  of  thought  and  speech,  boasts  of  permitting 
the  liberty  of  the  press,  a  man  is  pilloried  and  imprisoned  because  he  is  a 
deist,  and  no  one  raises  his  voice  in  the  indignation  of  outraged  human- 
ity. But  it  is  ever  a  proof  that  the  falsehood  of  a  proposition  is  felt  by 
those  who  use  coercion,  not  reasoning,  to  procure  its  admission  ;  and  a 
dispassionate  observer  would  feel  himself  more  powerfully  interested  in 
favour  of  a  man,  who,  depending  on  the  truth  of  his  opinions,  simply 
stated  his  reasons  for  entertaining  them,  than  in  that  of  his  aggressor, 
who,  daringly  avowing  his  unwillingness  or  incapacity  to  answer  them  by 
argument,  proceeded  to  repress  the  energies  and  break  the  spirit  of  their 
promulgator  by  that  torture  and  imprisonment  whose  infliction  he  could 
command. 

Analogy  seems  to  favour  the  opinion  that,  as  like  other  systems,  Christ- 
ianity has  arisen  and  augmented,  so,  like  them,  it  will  decay  and  perish ; 
that,  as  violence,  darkness,  and  deceit,  not  reasoning  and  persuasion, 
have  procured  its  admission  among  mankind,  so,  when  enthusiasm  has 
subsided,  and  time,  that  infallible  controvcrter  of  false  opinions,  has  in- 
volved its  pretended  evidences  in  the  darkness  of  antiquity,  it  will  be- 
come obsolete ;  that  Milton's  poem  alone  will  give  permanency  to  the 
remembrance  of  its  absurdities  ;  and  that  men  will  laugh  as  heartily  at 
grace,  faith,  redemption,  and  original  sin,  as  they  now  do  at  the  meta- 
morphoses of  Jupiter,  the  miracles  of  Romish  saints,  the  efficacy  of 
witchcraft,  and  the  appearance  of  departed  spirits. 

Had  the  Christian  religion  commenced  and  continued  by  the  mere 
force  of  reasoning  and  persuasion,  the  preceding  analogy  would  be  inad- 
missible. We  should  never  speculate  on  the  future  obsoleteness  of  a 
system  perfectly  conformable  to  nature  and  reason  :  it  would  endure  so 
long  as  they  endured  ;  it  would  be  a  truth  as  indisputable  as  the  light  of 
the  sun,  the  criminality  of  murder,  and  other  facts,  whose  evidence,  de- 
pending on  our  organization  and  relative  situations,  must  remain  ac- 
knowledged as  satisfactory  so  long  as  man  is  man.  It  is  an  incontro- 
vertible fact,  the  consideration  of  which  ought  to  repress  the  hasty  con- 
clusions of  credulity,  or  moderate  its  obstinacy  in  maintaining  them, 
that,  had  the  Jews  not  been  a  fanatical  race  of  men,  had  even  the  resolu- 
tion of  Pontius  Pilate  been  equal  to  his  candour,  the  Christian  religion 
never  could  have  prevailed,  it  could  not  even  have  existed  :  on  so  feeble 
a  thread  hangs  the  most  cherished  opinion  of  a  sixth  of  the  human 
race!  When  will  the  vulgar  learn  humility  ?  When  will  the  pride  of 
ignorance  blush  at  having  believed  before  it  could  comprehend  ? 

Either  the  Christian  religion  is  true,  or  it  is  false  :  if  true,  it  comes 
from  God,  and  its  authenticity  can  admit  of  doubt  and  dispute  no  fur. 
ther  than  its  omnipotent  author  is  willing  to  allow.  Either  the  power  or 
the  goodness  of  God  is  called  in  question  if  he  leaves  those  doctrines, 
most  essential  to  the  well-being  of  man,  in  doubt  and  dispute;  the  only 
ones  which,  since  their  promulgation,  have  been  the  subject  of  unceasing 
cavil,  the  cause  of  irreconcilable  hatred.  If  God  has  spoken,  why  is  the 
universe  not  convinced? 

There  is  this  passage  in  the  Christian  Scriptures :  "  Those  who  obey 
not  God,  and  believe  not  the  Gospel  of  his  Son,  shall  be  punished  with 
e-.  eriusting  destruction."  This  is  the  pivot  upon  which  all  religions  turn  : 
they  all  assume  that  it  is  in  our  power  to  believe  or  not  to  believe  ; 
whereas  the  mind  can  only  believe  that  which  it  thinks  true.  A  human 
being  can  only  be  supposed  accountable  for  those  actions  which  are  influ- 
enced by  his  will.  Put  belief  is  utterly  distinct  from,  ami  mu 
with,  volition  :  it  is  the  apprehension  of  the  agrccmeiii  or  .1,  ..•■  renin  ut  of 
the  ideas  that  compose  any  proposition.     Belief  is  a  passion,  or  involun 


TO  QUEEN  MAR.  127 

tary  operation  of  the  mind,  and,  like  other  passions,  its  intensity  is  pre- 
cisely proportionate  to  the  degrees  of  cxci'emcut.  Volition  is  essential 
to  merit  or  demerit.  But  the  Christian  religion  attaches  the  highest  pos- 
sible degrees  of  merit  and  demerit  to  that  which  is  worthy  of  neither,  and 
which  is  totally  unconnected  with  the  peculiar  faculty  of  the  mind, 
whose  presence  is  essential  to  their  being. 

Christianity  was  intended  to  reform  the  world:  had  an  all-wise  Being 
planned  it,  nothing  is  more  improbable  than  that  it  should  have  failed  : 
omniscience  would  infallibly  have  foreseen  the  inutility  of  a  scheme 
which  experience  demonstrates,  to  this  age,  to  have  been  utterly  unsuc- 
cessful. 

Christianity  inculcates  the  necessity  of  supplicating  the  Deity.  Prayer 
may  be  considered  under  two  points  of  view  ;  as  an  endeavour  to  change 
the  intentions  'of  God,  or  as  a  formal  testimony  of  our  obedience.  But 
the  former  case  supposes  that  the  caprices  of  a  limited  intelligence  can 
occasionally  instruct  the  Creator  of  the  world  how  to  regulate  the  uni- 
verse ;  and  the  latter,  a  certain  degree  of  servility  analogous  to  the  loy- 
alty demanded  by  earthly  tyrants.  Obedience,  indeed,  is  only  the  pitiful 
and  cowardly  egotism  of  him  who  thinks  that  he  can  do  something  better 
than  reason. 

Christianity,  like  all  other  religions,  rests  upon  miracles,  prophecies, 
and  martyrdoms.  No  religion  ever  existed,  which  had  not  its  prophets, 
its  attested  miracles,  and,  above  all,  crowds  of  devotees  who  would  bear 
patiently  the  most  horrible  tortures  to  prove  its  authenticity.  It  should 
appear  that  in  no  case  can  a  discriminating  mind  subscribe  to  the  genu- 
ineness of  a  miracle.  A  miracle  is  an  infraction  of  nature's  law,  by  a 
supernatural  cause ;  by  a  cause  acting  beyond  that  eternal  circle  within 
which  all  things  are  included.  God  breaks  through  the  law  of  nature, 
that  he  may  convince  mankind  of  the  truth  of  that  revelation  which,  in 
spite  of  his  precautions,  has  been,  since  its  introduction,  the  subject  of 
unceasing  schism  and  cavil. 

Miracles  resolve  themselves  into  the  following  question  :* — Whether  it 
is  more  probable  the  laws  of  nature,  hitherto  so  immutably  harmonious, 
should  have  undergone  violation,  or  that  a  man  should  have  told  a  lie  ? 
Whether  it  is  not  more  probable  that  we  are  ignorant  of  the  natural 
cause  of  an  event,  or  that  we  know  the  supernatural  one?  That,  in  old 
times,  when  the  powers  of  nature  were  less  known  than  at  present,  a  cer- 
tain set  of  men  were  themselves  deceived,  or  had  some  hidden  motive  for 
deceiving  others  ;  or  that  God  begat  a  son,  who,  in  his  legislation,  mea- 
suring merit  by  belief,  evidenced  himself  to  be  totally  ignorant  of  the 
powers  of  the  human  mind — of  what  is  voluntary,  and  what  is  the  con- 
trary ? 

We  have  many  instances  of  men  telling  lies;  none  of  an  infraction  of 
nature's  laws,  those  laws  of  whose  government  alone  we  have  any  know- 
ledge or  experience.  The  records  of  all  nations  afford  innumerable  in- 
stances of  men  deceiving  others  either  from  vanity  or  interest,  or  them- 
selves being  deceived  by  the  limitedness  of  their  views  and  their  igno 
ranee  of  natural  causes  :  but  where  is  the  accredited  case  of  God  having 
come  upon  earth,  to  give  the  lie  to  his  own  creations  .'  There  would  he 
something  truly  wonderful  in  the  appearance  of  a  ghost;  but  the  asser- 
tion of  a  child  that  he  saw  one  as  he  passed  through  the  church-yard  is 
universally  admitted  to  be  less  miraculous. 

But  even  supposing  that  a  man  should  raise  a  dead  body  to  life  before 
our  eyes,  and  on  this  fact  rest  his  claim  to  being  considered  the  Son  of 
God ; — the  Humane  Society  restores  drowned  persons,  and  because  it 
makes  no  mystery  of  the  method  it  employs,  its  members  are  not  mis 
taken  for  the  sons  of  God.  All  that  we  have  a  right  to  infer  from  our  ig- 
norance of  the  cause  of  any  event  is,  that  we  do  not  know  it :  had  the 
Mexicans  attended  to  this  simple  rule  when  they  heard  the  cannon  of 
the  Spaniards,  they  would  not  have  considered  them  as  gods  :  the  experi- 
ments of  modern  chemistry  would  have  defied  the  wisest  philosophers  of 
ancient  Greece  and  Rome  to  have  accounted  for  them  on  natural  princi- 
*  See  Hume's  Essay,  vol.  ii.  page  121. 


128  NOTES 

pies.  An  author  of  strong  common  sense  has  observed,  that  "  a  miracle 
is  no  miracle  at  second-hand  ;"  lie  might  have  added,  that  a  miracle  is  no 
miracle  in  any  case  ;  for  until  we  are  acquainted  with  all  natural  causes, 
we  have  no  reason  to  imagine  others. 

There  remains  to  be  considered  another  proof  of  Christianity — Prophe- 
cy. A  book  is  written  before  a  certain  event,  in  which  this  event  is  fore- 
told ;  how  could  the  prophet  hare  foreknown  it  without  inspiration .'  how 
could  he  have  been  inspired  without  God  >  The  greatest  stress  is  laid  on 
the  prophecies  of  Moses  and  Hosea  on  the  dispersion  of  the  Jews,  and 
that  of  Isaiah  concerning  the  coming  of  the  Messiah.  The  prophecy 
of  Moses  is  a  collection  of  every  possible  cursing  and  blessing :  and  it  is 
so  far  from  being  marvellous  that  the  one  of  dispersion  should  have  been 
fulfilled,  that  it  would  have  been  more  surprising  if,  out  of  all  these, none 
should  have  taken  effect.  In  Deuteronomy  xxviii.  C4,  where  Moses  ex- 
plicitly foretels  the  dispersion,  he  states  that  they  shall  there  serve  gods 
of  wood  and  stone  :  "  And  the  Lord  shall  scatter  thee  among  all  people, 
from  the  one  end  of  the  earth  even  to  the  other,  and  there  l/inti  shalt 
serve  other  gods,  which  neither  thou  nor  thy  fathers  hare  known,  even  gods 
of  wood  and  stone."  The  Jews  are,  at  this  day,  remarkably  tenacious  of 
their  religion.  Moses  also  declares  that  they  shall  be  subjected  to  these 
causes  for  disobedience  to  his  ritual:  "And  it  shall  come  to  pass,  if  thou 
will  not  hearken  unto  the  voice  of  the  Lord  thy  God,  to  observe  to  do  all 
the  commandments  and  statutes  which  I  command  you  this  day,  that  all 
these  curses  shall  come  upon  thee  and  overtake  thee."  Is  this  the  real 
reason  ?  The  third,  fourth,  and  fifth  chapters  of  Hosea  are  a  piece  of 
immodest  confession.  The  indelicate  type  might  apply  in  a  hundred 
senses  to  a  hundred  things.  The  fifty-third  chapter  of  Isaiah  is  more 
explicit,  yet  it  does  not  exceed  in  clearness  the  oracles  of  Delphos.  The 
historical  proof,  that  Moses,  Isaiah,  and  Hosea  did  write,  when  they  are 
said  to  have  written,  is  far  from  being  clear  and  circumstantial. 

But  prophecy  requires  proof  in  its  character  as  a  miracle  ;  we  have  no 
right  to  suppose  that  a  man  foreknew  future  events  from  God,  until  it  is 
demonstrated  that  he  neither  could  know  them  by  his  own  exertions,  nor 
that  the  writings  which  contain  the  prediction  could  possibly  have  been 
fabricated  after  the  event  pretended  to  be  foretold.  It  is  more  probable 
that  writings,  pretending  to  divine  inspiration,  should  have  been  fabri- 
cated after  the  fulfilment  of  their  pretended  prediction,  than  that  they 
should  h&ve  really  been  divinely  inspired  ;  when  we  consider  that  the 
latter  supposition  makes  God  at  once  the  creator  of  the  hszsi  m  mind,  and 
ignorant  of  its  primary  powers,  particularly  as  we  have  namberless  in- 
stances of  false  religions,  and  forged  prophecies  of  things  long  past,  and 
no  accredited  case  of  God  having  conversed  with  men  directly  or  indi- 
rectly. It  is,  also,  possible  that  the  description  of  an  event  might  have 
foregone  its  occurence  ;  but  this  is  far  from  being  a  legitimate  proof  of  a 
divine  revelation,  as  many  men,  not  pretending  to  the  character  of  a  pro- 
phet, have,  nevertheless,  in  this  sense,  prophesied. 

Lord  Chesterfield  was  never  yet  taken  for  a  prophet,  even  by  a  bishop, 
yet  he  uttered  this  remarkable  prediction  :  "  The  despotic  government  of 
France  is  screwed  up  to  the  highest  pitch ;  a  revolution  is  fast  approach- 
ing; that  revolution,  I  am  convinced,  will  be  radical  and  sanguinary." 
This  appeared  in  the  letters  of  the  prophet  long  before  the  accomplish- 
ment of  this  wonderful  prediction.  Now,  ha'  e  these  particulars  come  to 
pass,  or  have  they  not?  If  they  have,  how  could  the  Earl  have  fore- 
known them  without  inspiration  >.  If  we  admit  the  truth  of  the  Christian 
religion  on  testimony  such  as  this,  we  must  admit,  on  the  same  strength 
of  evidence,  that  God  has  affixed  the  highest  rewards  to  belief,  and  the 
eternal  tortures  of  the  never-dying  worm  to  disbelief ;  both  of  which  have 
been  demonstrated  to  be  involuntary. 

The  last  proof  of  the  Christian  religion  depends  on  the  influence  of 
the  Holy  Ghost.  Theologians  divide  the  influence  of  the  Holy  Ghost 
into  its  ordinary  and  extraordinary  modes  of  operation.  The  latter  is 
supposed  to  be  that  which  inspired  the  Prophets  and  Apostles  ;  and  the 
former  to  be  the  grace  of  God,  which  summarily  makes  known  the  truth  of 
his  revelalion,  to  those  whose  minds  are  fitted  for  its  reception  by  a  sub- 


TO  QUEEN  MAB.  129 

missive  perusal  of  his  word.  Persons  convinced  in  this  manner,  can  do 
anything  but  account  for  their  conviction,  describe  the  time  at  which  it 
happened,  or  the  manner  in  which  it  came  upon  them.  It  is  supposed  to 
enter  the  mind  by  other  channels  than  those  of  the  senses,  and,  therefore, 
professes  to  be  superior  to  reason  founded  on  their  experience. 

Admitting,  however,  the  usefulness  or  possibility  of  a  divine  revelation, 
unless  we  demolish  the  foundations  of  all  human  knowledge,  it  is  requi- 
site that  our  reason  should  previously  demonstrate  its  genuineness  ;  for, 
before  we  extinguish  the  steady  ray  of  reason  and  common  sense,  it  is  tit 
that  we  should  discover  whether  we  cannot  do  without  their  assistance, 
whether  or  no  there  be  any  other  which  may  suffice  to  guide  us  through 
the  labyrinth  of  life  :*  for,  if  a  man  is  to  be  inspired  upon  all  occasions, 
if  he  is  to  be  sure  of  a  thing  because  he  is  sure,  if  the  ordinary  opera- 
tions of  the  spirit  are  not  to  be  considered  very  extraordinary  modes  of 
demonstration,  if  enthusiasm  is  to  usurp  the  place  of  proof,  and  madness 
that  of  sanity,  all  reasoning  is  superfluous.  The  Mahometan  dies  fight- 
ing for  his  prophet;  the  Indian  immolates  himself  at  the  chariot-wheeis 
of  Brahma ;  the  Hottentot  worships  an  insect ;  the  Negro  a  bunch  of  fea- 
thers; the  Mexican  sacrifices  human  victims!  Their  degree  of  convic- 
tion must,  certainly,  be  very  strong :  it  cannot  arise  from  conviction ;  it 
must  from  feelings,  the  reward  of  their  prayers.  If  each  of  these  should 
affirm,  in  opposition  to  the  strongest  possible  arguments,  that  inspiration 
carried  internal  evidence,  I  fear  their  inspired  brethren,  the  orthodox 
Missionaries,  would  be  so  uncharitable  as  to  pronounce  them  obstinate. 

Miracles  cannot  be  received  as  testimonies  of  a  disputed  fact,  because 
all  human  testimony  has  ever  been  insufficient  to  establish  the  possibil- 
ity of  miracles.  That,  which  is  incapable  of  proof  itself,  is  no  prjof  of 
any  thing  else.  Prophecy  has  also  been  rejected  by  the  test  of  reason. 
Those,  then,  who  have  been  actually  inspired,  are  the  only  true  believers 
u  the  Christian  religion. 

Mox  numine  viso 
Virginei  tumuere  sinus,  innuptaque  mater 
Arcano  stupuit  compleri  viscera  partu, 
Auctorem  paritura  suum.     Mortalia  corda 
Artificem  texere  poli,  latuitque  sub  uno 
Pectore,  qui  totum  late  complectitur  orbem. 

Claudiani  Carmen  Paschale.f 
Does  not  so  monstrous  and  disgusting  an  absurdity  carry  its  own  in- 
famy and  refutation  with  itself. 

(q)  Page  102. 
Him  (still  from  hope  to  hope  the  bliss  pursuing, 
Which,  from  the  exhaustless  store  of  human  weal 
Dawns  on  the  virtuous  mind),  the  thoughts  that  rise 
In  time-destroying  injiuiteness,  gift 
With  self-enshrined  eternity,  %c. 

Time  is  our  consciousness  of  the  succession  of  ideas  in  our  mind. 
Vivid  sensation,  of  either  pain  or  pleasure,  makes  the  time  seem  long,  as 
the  common  phrase  is,  because  it  renders  us  more  acutely  conscious  of 
our  ideas.  If  a  mind  be  conscious  of  a  hundred  ideas  during  one  mi- 
nute, by  the  clock,  and  of  two  hundred  during  another,  the  latter  of 
these  spaces  would  actually  occupy  so  much  greater  extent  in  the  mind, 
as  two  exceed  one  in  quantity.  If,  therefore,  the  human  mind,  by  any 
future  improvement  of  its  sensibility,  should  become  conscious  of  an  in- 
finite number  of  ideas  in  a  minute,  that  minute  would  be  eternity.     I  do 

*  See  Locke's  Essay  on  the  Human  Understanding,  book  iv.  chapter  xix.  oa 

t  Upon  leeing  tne  Divinity,  the  Virgin  s  womb  soon  swelled,  and  the  unmarried 

mother  whs  amazed  to   find  herself  nilcilwiili   a   mysterious  progeny,  and  iliat  ;ho 
was  10  Win'--  i". .rili  to  the  world  her  own  Creator.     A  mortal  frame  veiled  the  Kramer 
of  the  Heavens,  and  he.  who  "inhiaees  the  wide  surrounding  circle  of  the  world 
lay,  himself,  concealed  in  the  recesses  of  the  womb. 
12 


130  NOTES 

not  hence  infer  that  the  actual  space  between  the  birth  and  death  of  a 
man  will  ever  be  prolonged ;   but  that  his  sensibility  is  perfectible,  and 
that  the  number  of  ideas  which  his  mind  is  capable  of  receiving  is   in- 
definite.    One  man  is  stretched  on  the  rack  during  twelve  hours  .  another 
sleeps  soundly  in  his  bed  :   the  difference  of  time  perceived  by  these  two 
persons  is  immense;  one  hardly  will  believe  that  half  an  hour  lias  elapsed, 
the  other  could  credit  that  centuries  had  flown  during  his  agony.     Thus, 
the  life  of  a  man  of  virtue  and  talent,  who  should  die  in  his  thirtieth  year, 
is,  with  regar  dto  his  own  feelings,  longer  than  that  of  a  miserable  priest- 
ridden  slave,  who  dreams  out  a  century  of  dullness.     The  one  has  per 
petually  cultivated  his  mental  faculties,  has  rendered  himself  master  of 
his  thoughts,  can  abstract  and  generalize  amid  the  lethargy  of  every-day 
business ; — the  other  can  slumber  over  the  brightest  moments  of  his  be- 
ing, and  is  unable  to  remember  the  happiest  hour  of  his  life.     Perhaps 
.he  perishing  ephemeron  enjoys  a  longer  life  than  the  tortoise. 
Dark  flood  of  time  ! 
Roll  as  it  listeth  thee — I  measure  not 
By  months  or  moments  thy  ambiguous  course. 
Another  may  stand  by  me  on  the  brink, 
And  watch  the  bubble  whirl'd  beyond  his  ken 
That  pauses  at  my  feet.     The  sense  of  love. 
The  thirst  for  action,  and  the  impassioned  thought, 
Prolong  my  being  :  if  I  wake  no  more, 
My  life  more  actual  living  will  contain 
Than  some  grey  veteran's,  of  the  world's  cold  school, 
Whose  listless  hours  unprofitably  roll, 
By  one  enthusiast  feeling  unredeemed. 
See  Godwin's  Pol.  Just.  vol.  i.  page  411  ;  and  Condnrret,  Esquisse  d'un 
Tableau  Historiquc  des  Progres  de  V Esprit  ILumain,  epoque  ix. 

(r)  Page  91. 

No  longer  now 
He  slays  the  lamb  that  looks  him  in  the  face. 
I  hold  that  the  depravity  of  the  physical  and  moral  nature  of  man  ori- 
ginated in  his  unnatural  habits  of  life.  The  origin  of  man,  like  that  of 
the  universe  of  which  he  is  a  part,  is  enveloped  in  impenetrable  mystery. 
His  generations  either  had  a  beginning,  or  they  had  not.  The  weight  of 
evidence  in  favour  of  each  of  these  suppositions  seems  tolerably  equal ; 
and  it  is  perfectly  unimportant  to  the  present  argument,  which  is  as- 
sumed. The  language  spoken,  however,  by  the  mythology  of  nearly  all 
religions  seems  to  prove,  that  at  some  distant  period  man  forsook  the 
path  of  nature,  and  sacrificed  the  purity  and  happiness  of  his  being  to 
unnatural  appetites.  The  date  of  this  event  seems  to  have  also  been  that 
of  some  great  change  in  the  climates  of  the  earth,  with  which  it  has  an 
obvious  correspondence.  The  allegory  of  Adam  and  Eve  eating  of  the 
tree  of  evil,  and  entailing  upon  their  posterity  the  wrath  of  God,  and  the 
loss  of  everlasting  life,  admits  of  no  other  explanation  than  the  disease 
and  crime  that  have  flowed  from  unnatural  diet.  Milton  was  so  well 
aware  of  this,  that  he  makes  Raphael  thus  exhibit  to  Adam  the  con- 
sequence of  his  disobedience : — 

Immediately  a  place 

Before  his  eyes  appeared,  sad,  noisome,  dark; 

A  lazar-house  it  seemed,  wherein  were  laid 

Numbers  of  all  diseased:  all  maladies 

Of  ghastly  spasm,  or  racking  torture,  qualms 

Of  heart-sick  agony,  all  feverous  kinds, 

Convulsions,  epilepsies,  fierce  catarrhs, 

Intestine  stone  and  ulcer,  cholic  pangs, 

Demoniac  frenzy,  moping  melancholy, 

And  moon-struck  madness,  pining  atrophy, 

Marasmus,  and  wide-wasting  pestilence, 

Dropsies,  and  asthmas,  and  joint-racking  rheums." 


TO  QUEEN  MAB.  131 

And  how  many  thousands  more  might  not  be  added  to  this  frightful 
catalogue ! 

The  story  of  Prometheus  is  one  likewise  which,  although  universally 
admitted  to  be  allegorical,  has  never  been  satisfactorily  explained.  Pro- 
metheus stole  fire  from  heaven,  and  was  chained  for  this  crime  to  Mount 
Caucasus,  where  a  vulture  continually  devoured  his  liver,  that  giew  to 
meet  its  hunger.  Hesiod  says,  that,  before  the  time  of  Prometheus, 
mankind  were  exempt  from  suffering ;  that  they  enjoyed  a  vigorous 
youth,  and  that  death,  when  at  length  it  came,  approached  like  sleep, 
and  gently  closed  their  eyes.  Again,  so  general  was  this  opinion,  that 
Horace,  a  poet  of  the  Augustan  age,  writes — 

Thus,  from  the  sun's  ethereal  beam 
When  bold  Prometheus  stole  th'  enlivening  flame, 

Of  fevers  dire  a  ghastly  brood, 
Till  then  unknown,  th'  unhappy  fraud  pursu'd ; 

On  earth  their  horrors  baleful  spread, 
And  the  pale  monarch  of  the  dead, 

Till  then  slow-moving  to  his  prey, 
Precipitately  rapid  swept  his  way. 

Francis's  Horace,  book  i.  ode  3. 

How  plain  a  language  is  spoken  by  all  this  !  Prometheus  (who  represents 
the  human  race)  effected  some  great  change  in  the  condition  of  his  na- 
ture, and  applied  fire  to  culinary  purposes  ;  thus  inventing  an  expedient 
for  screening  from  his  disgust  the  horrors  of  the  shambles.  From  this 
moment  his  vitals  were  devoured  by  the  vulture  of  disease.  It  consumed 
his  being  in  every  shape  of  its  loathsome  and  infinite  variety,  inducing 
the  soul-quelling  sinkings  of  premature  and  violent  death.  All  vice  arose 
from  the  ruin  of  healthful  innocence.  Tyranny,  superstition,  commerce, 
and  inequality,  were  then  first  known,  when  reason  vainly  attempted  to 
guide  the  wanderings  of  exacerbated  passion.  I  conclude  this  part  of 
the  subject  with  an  extract  from  Mr.  Newton's  Defence  of  Vegetable  Regi- 
men, from  whom  I  have  borrowed  this  interpretation  of  the  fable  of  Pro- 
metheus. 

"  Making  allowance  for  such  transposition  of  the  events  of  the  allegory 
as  time  might  produce  after  the  important  truths  were  forgotten,  which 
this  portion  of  the  ancient  mythology  was  intended  to  transmit,  the  drift 
of  the  fable  seems  to  be  this  : — Man  at  his  creation  was  endowed  with 
the  gift  of  perpetual  youth;  that  is,  he  was  not  formed  to  be  a  sickly, 
suffering  creature,  as  we  now  see  him,  but  to  enjoy  health,  and  to  sink 
by  slow  degrees  into  the  bosom  of  his  parent  earth  without  disease  or 
pain.  Prometheus  first  taught  the  use  of  animal  food  (primus  bovem  oc- 
cidil  Prometheus*)  and  of  fire,  with  which  to  render  it  more  digestible 
and  pleasing  to  the  taste.  Jupiter,  and  the  rest  of  the  gods,  foreseeing 
the_  consequences  of  these  inventions,  were  amused  or  irritated  at  the 
short-sighted  devices  of  the  newly-formed  creature,  and  left  him  to  ex- 
perience the  sad  effects  of  them.  Thirst,  the  necessary  concomitant  of 
a  flesh  diet,"  (perhaps  of  all  diet  vitiated  by  culinary  preparation,)  "  en- 
sued; water  was  resorted  to,  and  man  forfeited  the  inestimable  gift  of 
health  which  he  has  received  from  heaven  :  he  became  diseased,  the  par- 
taker of  a  precarious  existence,  and  no  longer  descended  slowly  to  his 
grave."! 

But  just  disease  to  luxury  succeeds, 

And  every  death  its  own  avenger  breeds  ; 

The  fury  passions  from  that  blood  began, 

And  turned  on  man  a  fiercer  savage— man. 
Man,  and  the  animals  whom  he  has  infected  with  his  society,   or  de- 
praved by  his  dominion,  are  alone  diseased.     The  wild  hog,  the  mouflon, 
the  bison,  and   the  wolf,  are  perfectly  exempt  from  malady,   and  inva- 
■tiably  die  either  from  external  violence,  or  natural  old  age.     Hut  the 

Nat.  Hitt.  lil).  vii.  sect.  57. 


132  NOTES 

domestic  hog,  the  sheep,  the  cow,  and  the  dog,  are  subject  to  an  incre- 
dible variety  of  distempers;  and,  like  the  corrupters  of  their  nature, 
have  physicians  who  thrive  upon  their  m  nee  of 

man  is  like  Satan's,  a  supereminep.ee  of  pain  :  and  the  majority  of  his 
species,  doomed  to  penury,  disea  i  ci  ■   e  ri  tson  to  curse  tne 

untoward  event,  that,  by  enabling  him    t<>   ,    , 

raise  1  him  above  the  level  of  his  fellow  animals.  But  the  steps  that 
have  been  taken  are  irrevocable.  The  whole  of  human  science  is  com 
prised  in  one  question  : — How  can  the  advantages  of  intellect  and  civili- 
zation be  reconciled  with  the  liberty  and  pure  pleasures  of  natural  life? 
How  can  we  take  the  benefits,  and  reject  the  evils  of  the  system,  which 
is  now  interwoven  with  all  the  fibres  of  our  being  .' — I  believe  that  absti- 
nence from  animal  food  and  spirituous  liquors  would  in  a  great  measure 
capacitate  us  for  the  solution  of  this  important  question. 

It  is  true,  that  mental  and  bodily  derangement  is  attributable  in  part 
to  other  deviations  from  rectitude  and  nature  than  those  which  concern 
diet.  The  mistakes  cherished  by  society  respecting  the  connexion  of 
the  sexes,  whence  the  misery  and  diseases  of  unsatisfied  celibacy,  unen- 
joying  prostitution,  and  the  premature  arrival  of  puberty  necessarily 
spring;  the  putrid  atmosphere  jf  crowded  cities;  the  exhala'tions  of  che- 
mical processes  ;  the  muffling  of  our  bodies  in  superfluous  apparel ;  the 
absurd  treatment  of  infants : — all  these,  and  innumerable  other  causes, 
contribute  their  mite  to  the  mass  of  human  evil. 

Comparative  anatomy  teaches  us  that  man  resembles  frugivorous  ani- 
mals in  every  thing,  and  carnivorous  in  nothing  ;  he  has  neither  claws 
wherewith  to  seize  his  prey,  nor  distinct  and  pointed  teeth  to  tear  the 
living  fibre.  A  Mandarin  of  the  first  class,  with  nails  two  inches  long, 
would  probably  find  them  alone  inefficient  to  hold  even  a  hare.  After 
every  subterfuge  of  gluttony,  the  bull  must  be  degraded  into  the  ox,  and 
the  ram  into  the  wether,  by  an  unnatural  and  inhuman  operation,  that 
the  flaccid  fibre  may  offer  a  fainter  resistance  to  rebellious  nature.  It  is 
only  by  softening  and  disguising  dead  flesh  by  culinary  preparation,  that 
it  is  rendered  susceptible  of  mastication  or  digestion  ;  and  that  the  sight 
of  its  bloody  juices  and  raw  horror  does  not  excite  intolerable  loathing 
and  disgust".  Let  the  advocate  of  animal  food  force  himself  to  a  decisive 
experiment  on  its  fitness,  and,  as  Plutarch  recommends,  tear  a  living 
lamb  with  his  teeth,  and  plunging  his  head  into  its  vitals,  slake  his  thirst 
with  the  steaming  blood ;  when  fresh  from  the  deed  of  horror,  let  him 
revert  to  the  irresistible  instincts  of  nature  that  would  rise  in  judgment 
against  it.  and  say,  Nature  formed  me  for  such  work  as  this.  Then,  and 
then  only,  would  he  be  consistent. 

Man  resembles  no  carnivorous  animal.  There  is  no  exception,  unless 
man  be  one,  to  the  rule  of  herbivorous  animals  having  cellulate  1  colons. 

The  orang-outang  perfectly  resembles  man  both  in  the  order  and 
number  of  his  teeth.  The  orang-outang  is  the  most  anthropomorphous 
of  the  ape  tribe,  all  of  which  are  strictly  frugivorous.  There  is  no  oiher 
species  of  animals,  which  live  on  different  food,  in  which  this  analogy 
exists.*  In  many  frugivorous  animals,  the  canine  teeth  are  more  pointed 
and  distinct  than  those  of  man.  The  resemblance  also  of  the  human 
stomach  to  that  of  the  orang-outang,  is  greater  than  to  that  of  any  other 
animal. 

The  intestines  are  also  identical  with  those  of  herbivorous  animals, 
which  present  a  larger  surface  for  absorption,  and  have  ample  and  ccl- 
lulated  colons.  The  coecum  also,  though  short,  is  larger  than  that  of 
carnivorous  animals ;  and  even  here  the  orangoutang  retains  its  accus- 
tomed similarity. 

The  structure  of  the  human  frame  then  is  that  of  one  fitted  to  a  pure 
vegetable  diet,  in  every  essential  particular.  It  is  true,  that  the  reluct- 
ance to  abstain  from  animal  food,  in  those  who  have  been  long  accus- 
tomed to  its  stimulus,  is  so  great  in  some  persons  of  weak  minds,  as  to  be 
scarcely  overcome ;  but  this  is  far  from  bringing  any   argument  in  its 

Cuvier,  LecoiucPAnat.  Comp.  torn.  iii.  pages  109,  373,  418,  40i  480.  P«>.s*s  Cyclo- 
raotdta,  ait.  Man. 


TO  QUEEN  MAB.  133 

favour.  A  lamb,  which  was  fed  for  seme  time  on  flesh  by  a  ship's  crew, 
refused  its  natural  diet  at  the  end  of  the  voyage.  There  are  numerous 
instances  of  horses,  sheep,  oxen,  and  even  wood-pigeons,  having  been 
taught  to  live  upon  flesh,  until  they  have  loathed  their  natural  aliment. 
Young  children  evidently  prefer  pastry,  oranges,  apples,  and  other  fruit, 
to  the  flesh  of  animals  ;  until,  by  the  gradual  depravation  of  the  digestive 
organs,  the  free  use  of  vegetables  has  for  a  time  produced  serious  incon- 
veniences ;  for  a  time,  I  say,  since  there  never  was  an  instance  wherein  a 
change  from  spirituous  liquors  and  animal  food  to  vegetables  and  pure 
water,  has  failed  ultimately  to  invigorate  the  body,  by  rendering  its 
juices  bland  and  consentaneous,  and  to  restore  to  the  mind  that  cheerful- 
ness and  elasticity,  which  not  one  in  fifty  possesses  on  the  piesent  sys- 
tem. A  love  of  strong  liquors  is  also  with  difficulty  taught  to  infants. 
Almost  every  one  remembers  the  wry  faces  which  the  first  glass  of  port 
produced.  Unsophisticated  instinct  is  invariably  unerring;  but  to  decide 
on  the  fitness  of  animal  food,  from  the  perverted  appetites  which  its 
constrained  adoption  produces,  is  to  make  the  criminal  a  judge  in  his 
own  cause  :  it  is  even  worse ;  it  is  appealing  to  the  infatuated  drunkard 
in  a  question  of  the  salubrity  of  brandy. 

What  is  the  cause  of  morbid  action  in  the  animal  system  ?  Not  the 
air  we  breathe,  for  our  fellow-denizens  of  nature  breathe  the  same  unin- 
jured; not  the  water  we  drink,  (if  remote  from  the  pollutions  of  man  and 
his  inventions,!)  for  the  animals  drink  it  too;  not  the  earth  we  tread 
upon  ;  not  the  unobscured  sight  of  glorious  nature,  in  the  wood,  the  field, 
or  the  expanse  of  sky  and  ocean  ;  nothing  that  we  are,  or  do,  in  common 
with  the  undiseased  inhabitants  of  the  forest.  Something,  then,  wherein 
we  differ  from  them  :  our  habit  of  altering  our  food  by  fire,  so  that  our 
appetite  is  no  longer  a  just  criterion  for  the  fitness  of  its  gratification. 
Except  in  children,  there  remain  no  traces  of  that  instinct  which  deter- 
mines, in  all  other  animals,  what  aliment  is  natural  or  otherwise;  and 
and  so  perfectly  obliterated  are  they  in  the  reasoning  adults  of  our  spe- 
cies, that  it  has  become  necessary  to  urge  considerations  drawn  from 
comparative  anatomy  to  prove  that  we  are  naturally  frugivorous. 

Crime  is  madness.  Madness  is  disease.  Whenever  the  cause  of  dis- 
ease shall  be  discovered,  the  root,  from  which  all  vice  and  misery  have  so 
long  overshadowed  the  globe,  will  lie  bare  to  the  axe.  All  the  exertions  of 
man,  from  that  moment,  may  be  considered  as  tending  to  the  clear  profit  of 
his  species.  No  sane  mind,  in  a  sane  body,  resolves  upon  a  real  crime. 
It  is  a  man  of  violent  passions,  blood-shot  eyes,  and  swollen  veins,  that 
alone  can  grasp  the  knife  of  murder.  The  system  of  a  simple  diet  pro- 
mises no  Utopian  advantages.  It  is  no  mere  reform  of  legislation,  whilst 
the  furious  passions  and  evil  propensities  of  the  human  heart,  in  which 
it  had  its  origin,  are  still  unassuaged.  It  strikes  at  the  root  of  all  evil, 
and  is  an  experiment  which  may  be  tried  with  success,  not  alone  by  na 
tions,  but  by  small  societies,  families,  and  even  individuals.  In  no  cases 
has  a  return  to  vegetable  diet  produced  the  slightest  injury:  in  most,  it 
has  been  attended  With  changes  undeniably  beneficial.  Should  ever  a 
physician  be  born  with  the  genius  of  Locke,  I  am  persuaded  that  he 
might  trace  all  bodily  and  mental  derangements  to  our  unnatural  habits, 
as  clearly  as  that  philosopher  has  traced  all  knowledge  to  sensation. 
What  prolific  sources  of  disease  are  not  those  mineral  and  vegetable  poi- 
sons that  have  been  introduced  for  its  extirpation !  How  many  thou- 
sands have  become  murderers  and  robbers,  bigots  and  domestic  tyrants, 
dissolute  and  abandoned  adventurers,  from  the  use  of  fermented  liquors  ; 
who,  had  they  slaked  their  thirst  only  with  pure  water,  would  have  lived 
but  to  diffuse  the  happiness  of  their  own  unperverted  feelings.  How 
many  groundless  opinions  and  absurd  institutions  have  not  received  a 
general  sanction  from  the  sottishness  and  intemperance  of  individuals ! 
Who  will  assert  that,  had  the  populace  of  Paris  satisfied  their  hunger  at 

t  The  necessity  of  resorting  to  some  means  of  purifyinc  water,  and  the  disease 
■which  arises  from  iis  adulteration  in  civi.ized  countries,  is  sufficiently  apparent.— 
See  Dr.  Lamhe's  Reports  on  Cancer.  I  do  not  assert  that  the  use  of  water  Ls  in 
itself  unnatural,  but  that  the  unperverted  palate  would  swallow  no  liquid  capaole  of 
occasioning  disease. 

12* 


131  NOTES 

the  ever-furnished  table  of  vegetable  nature,  they  would  have  lent  their 
brutal  suffrage  to  the  proscription-list  of  Robespierre ?  Could  a  set  of 
men,  whose  passions  were  not  perverted  by  unnatural  stimuli,  look  with 
coolness  on  an  auto  do  fe  ?  Is  it  is  to  be  believed  that  a  being  of  gentle 
feelings,  rising  from  his  meal  of  roots,  would  take  delight  in  sports  of 
blood  ?  Was  Nero  a  man  of  temperate  life  ?  Could  you  read  calm 
health  in  his  cheek,  flushed  with  ungovernable  propensities  of  hatred  for 
the  human  race?  Did  Muley  Ismail's  pulse  beat  evenly  ?  was  his  skin 
transparent?  did  his  eyes  beam  with  healthfulness,  and  its  invariable 
concomitants,  cheerfulness  and  benignity?  Though  history  has  decided 
none  of  these  questions,  a  child  could  not  hesitate  to  answer  in  the  nega- 
tive. Surely,  the  bile-suffused  cheek  of  Buonaparte,  his  wrinkled  brow, 
and  yellow  eye,  the  ceaselcsss  inquietude  of  his  nervous  system,  speak 
no  less  plainly  the  character  of  his  unresting  ambition,  than  his  murders 
and  his  victories.  It  is  impossible,  had  Buonaparte  descended  from  a 
race  of  vegetable  feeders,  that  he  could  have  had  either  the  inclination 
or  the  power  to  ascend  the  throne  of  the  Bourbons.  The  desire  of  ty- 
ranny could  scarcely  be  excited  in  the  individual ;  the  power  to  tyrannize 
would  certainly  not  be  delegated  by  a  society  neither  frenzied  by  inebri- 
ation, nor  rendered  impotent  and  irrational  by  disease.  Pregnant,  in- 
deed, with  inexhaustible  calamity  is  the  renunciation  of  instinct,  as  it 
concerns  our  physical  nature ;  arithmetic  cannot  enumerate,  nor  reason, 
perhaps,  suspect,  the  multitudinous  sources  of  disease  in  civilized  life. 
Even  common  water,  that  apparently  innoxious  pabulum,  when  corrupted 
by  the  filth  of  populous  cities,  is  a  deadly  and  insiduous  destroyer.* 
Who  can  wonder  that  all  the  inducements  held  out  by  God,  himself,  in 
the  Bible  to  virtue  should  have  been  vainer  than  a  nurse's  tale ;  and  that 
those  dogmas,  by  which  he  has  there  excited  and  justified  the  most  fero- 
cious propensities,  should  have  alone  been  deemed  essential ;  whilst 
Christians  are  in  the  daily  practice  of  all  those  habits  which  have  in- 
fected with  disease  and  crime,  not  only  the  reprobate  sons,  but  these 
favoured  children  of  the  common  Father's  love.  Omnipotence  itself 
could  not  save  them  from  the  consequences  of  this  original  and  universal 

There  is  no  disease,  bodily  or  mental,  which  adoption  of  vegetable  diet 
and  pure  water  has  not  infallibly  mitigated,  wherever  the  experiment  has 
been  fairiy  tried.  Debility  is  gradually  converted  into  strength  ;  disease 
into  healthfulness;  madness,  in  all  its  hideous  variety,  from  the  ravings 
of  the  fettered  maniac,  to  the  unaccountable  irrationalities  of  ill  temper, 
that  make  a  hell  of  domestic  life,  into  a  calm  and  considerate  evenness  of 
temper,  that  alone  might  offer  a  certain  pledge  of  the  future  moral  refor- 
mation of  society.  On  a  natural  system  of  diet,  old  age  would  be  our  last 
and  our  only  malady :  the  term  of  our  existence  would  be  protracted  ;  we 
should  enjoy  life,  and  no  longer  preclude  others  from  the  enjoyment  of 
it:  all  sensational  delights  would  be  infinitely  more  exquisite  and  perfect; 
the  very  sense  of  being  would  then  be  a  continued  pleasure,  such  as  we 
now  feel  it  in  some  few  and  favoured  moments  of  our  youth.  By  all  that 
is  sa.red  in  our  hopes  for  the  human  race,  I  conjure  those  who  love  hap- 
piness and  truth,  to  give  a  fair  trial  to  the  vegetable  system.  Reasoning  is 
surely  superfluous  on  a  subject  whose  merits  an  experience  of  six  months 
would  set  for  ever  at  rest.  But  it  is  only  among  the  enlightened  and 
benevolent  that  so  great  a  sacrifice  of  appetite  and  prejudice  can  be  ex- 
pected, even  though  its  ultimate  excellence  should  not  admit  of  dispute. 
It  is  found  easier,  by  the  short-sighted  victims  of  disease,  to  palliate 
their  torments  by  medicine,  than  to  prevent  them  by  regimen.  The  vul- 
gar of  all  ranks  are  invariably  sensual  and  indocile;  yet  1  cannot  but 
feel  myself  persuaded,  that  when  the  benefits  of  vegetable  diet  are  ma- 
thematically proved ;  when  it  is  as  clear,  that  those  who  live  naturally 
are  exempt  from  premature  death,  as  that  one  is  not  nine,  the  most  sot- 
tish of  mankind  will  feel  a  preference  towards  a  long  and  tranquil,  con- 
trasted with  a  short  and  painful,  life.  On  the  average,  out  of  sixty  per- 
sons, four  die  in  three  years.     Hopes  are  entertained  that,  in  April,  1S1-4 

*  Lambn's  Reports  on  Cancer. 


TO  QUEEN  MAB.  133 

a  statement  will  be  given  that  sixty  persons,  all  having  lived  more  than 
three  years,  on  vegetables  and  pure  water,  are  then  in  perfect  health. 
More  than  two  years  have  now  elapsed  ;  not  one  of  them  has  died;  no 
such  example  will  be  found  in  any  sixty  persons  taken  at  random.  Seven- 
teen persons  of  all  ages  (the  families  of  Dr.  Lambe  and  Mr.  Newton)  have 
lived  for  seven  years  on  this  diet  without  a  death,  and  almost  without  the 
slightest  illness.  Surely,  when  we  consider  that  some  of  these  were  in- 
fants, and  one  a  martyr  to  asthma,  now  nearly  subdued,  we  may  chal- 
lenge any  seventeen  persons  taken  at  random  in  this  city  to  exhibit  a 
parallel  case.  Those  who  may  have  been  excited  to  question  the  recti- 
tude of  established  habits  of  diet,  by  these  loose  remarks,  should  consult 
Mr.  Newton's  luminous  and  eloquent  essay.* 

When  these  proofs  come  fairly  before  the  world,  and  are  clearly  seen 
by  all  who  understand  arithmetic,  it  is  scarcely  possible  that  abstinence 
from  aliments  demonstrably  pernicious  should  not  become  universal. 
In  proportion  to  the  number  of  proselytes,  so  will  be  the  weight  of  evi- 
dence ;  and  when  a  thousand  persons  can  be  produced,  living  on  vege- 
tables and  distilled  water,  who  have  to  dread  no  disease  but  old  age,  the 
world  will  be  compelled  to  regard  animal  flesh  and  fermented  liquors  as 
slow  but  certain  poisons.  The  change  which  would  be  produced  by  sim- 
pler habits  on  political  economy  is  sufficiently  remarkable.  The  mono- 
polizing eater  of  animal  flesh  would  no  longer  destroy  his  constitution  by 
devouring  an  acre  at  a  meal,  and  many  loaves  of  bread  would  cease  to 
contribute  to  gout,  madness,  and  apoplexy,  in  the  shape  of  a  pint  of  por- 
ter, or  a  dram  of  gin,  when  appeasing  the  long-protracted  famine  of  the 
hard-working  peasant's  hungry  babes.  The  quantity  of  nutritious  vege- 
table matter,  consumed  in  fattening  the  carcase  of  an  ox,  would  afford 
ten  times  the  sustenance,  undepraving  indeed,  and  incapable  of  gene- 
rating disease,  if  gathered  immediately  from  the  bosom  of  the  earth. 
The  most  fertile  districts  of  the  habitable  globe  are  now  actually  culti- 
vated by  men  for  animals,  at  a  delay  and  waste  of  aliment  absolutely  in- 
capable of  calculation.  It  is  only  the  wealthy  that  can,  to  any  great  de- 
gree, even  now,  indulge  the  unnatural  craving  for  dead  flesh,  and  they 
pay  for  the  greater  licence  of  the  privilege  by  subjection  to  supernume- 
rary diseases.  Again,  the  spirit  of  the  nation  that  should  take  the  lead 
in  tins  great  reform,  would  insensibly  become  agricultural ;  commerce, 
with  all  its  vice,  selfishness,  and  corruption,  would  gradually  decline ; 
more  natural  habits  would  produce  gentler  manners,  and  the  excessive 
complication  of  political  relations  would  be  so  far  simplified,  that  every 
individual  might  feel  and  understand  why  he  loved  his  country,  and  took 
a  personal  interest  in  its  welfare.  How  would  England,  for  example,  de- 
pend on  the  caprices  of  foreign  rulers,  if  she  contained  within  herself  all 
the  necessaries,  and  despised  whatever  they  possessed  of  the  luxuries  of 
life?  How  could  they  starve  her  into  compliance  with  their  views?  Of 
what  consequence  would  it  be  that  they  refused  to  take  her  woollen  ma- 
nufactures, when  large  and  fertile  tracts  of  the  island  ceased  to  be  allotted 
to  the  waste  of  pasturage  ?  On  a  natural  system  of  diet,  we  should  re- 
quire no  spices  from  India ;  no  wines  from  Portugal,  Spain,  France,  or 
Madeira;  none  of  those  multitudinous  articles  of  luxury,  for  which  every 
corner  of  the  globe  is  rifled,  and  which  are  the  causes  of  so  much  indivi- 
dual rivalship,  such  calamitous  and  sanguinary  national  disputes.  In  the 
history  of  modern  times,  the  avarice  of  commercial  monopoly,  no  less 
than  the  ambition  of  weak  and  wicked  chiefs,  seems  to  have  fomented 
the  universal  discord,  to  have  added  stubbornness  to  the  mistakes  of  cabi- 
nets, and  indccility  to  the  infatuation  of  the  people.  Let  it  ever  be  re- 
membered, that  it  "is  the  direct  influence  of  commerce  to  make  the  inter- 
val between  the  richest  and  the  poorest  man  wider  and  more  unconquer- 
able. Let  it  be  remembered,  that  it  is  a  foe  to  every  thing  of  real  worth 
and  excellence  in  the  human  character.  The  odious  and  disgusting  aris- 
tocracy of  wealth  is  built  upon  the  ruins  of  all  that  is  good  in  chivalry  or 
republicanism;  and  luxury  is  the  forerunner  of  a  barbarism  scarce  capa- 
ble of  cure.  Is  it  impossible  to  realize  a  state  of  society,  where  all  the 
energies  of  man  shall  be  directed  to  the  production  of  his  solid  happi 
*  KcturD  to  Nature,  or  Defence  of  Vegetable  Regimen.    Cadell,  ml. 


130  NOTES 

ness  ?  Certainly  if  this  advantage  (the  object  of  all  political  speculation) 
be  in  any  degree  attainable,  it  is  attainable  only  by  a  community  which 
holds  out  no  factitious  incentives  to  the  avarice  and  ambition  of  the  few, 
and  which  is  internally  organized  for  the  liberty,  security,  and  comfort 
of  the  many.  None  must  be  entrusted  with  power  (and  money  is  the 
complctest  species  of  power)  who  do  not  stand  pledged  to  use  it  exclu- 
sively for  the  general  benefit.  But  the  use  of  animal  flesh  and  fermented 
liquors,  directly  militates  with  this  equality  of  the  rights  of  man.  The 
peasant  cannot  gratify  these  fashionable  cravings  without  leaving  his  fa- 
mily to  starve.  Without  disease  and  war,  those  sweeping  curtailcrs  of 
population,  pasturage  would  include  a  waste  too  great  to  be  afforded. 
The  labour  requisite  to  support  a  family  is  far  lighter  *  than  is  usually 
supposed.  The  peasantry,  work  not  only  for  themselves,  but  for  the  aris- 
tocracy, t)  e  army,  and  the  manufacturers. 

The  advantage  of  a  reform  in  diet  is  obviously  greater  than  that  of  any 
other.  It  strikes  at  the  root  of  the  evil.  To  remedy  the  abuses  of  legis. 
lation,  before  we  annihilate  the  propensities  by  which  they  are  produced, 
is  to  suppose,  that  by  taking  away  the  effect,  the  cause  wil'l  cease  to  ope- 
rate. But  the  efficacy  of  this  system  depends  on  the  proselytism  of  indi- 
viduals, and  grounds  its  merits,  as  a  benefit  to  the  community,  upon  the 
total  change  of  the  dietetic  habits  in  its  members.  It  proceeds  securely 
from  a  number  of  particular  cases  to  one  that  is  universal,  and  has  this 
advantage  over  the  contrary  mode,  that  one  error  does  not  invalidate  all 
that  has  gone  before. 

Let  not  too  much,  however,  be  expected  from  this  system.  The  healthi- 
est among  us  is  not  exempt  from  hereditary  disease.  The  most  symme- 
trical, athletic,  and  long-lived,  is  a  being  inexpressibly  inferior  to  what 
he  would  have  been  had  not  the  unnatural  habits  of  his  ancestors  accu- 
mulated for  him  a  certain  portion  of  malady  and  deformity.  In  the  most 
perfect  specimen  of  civilized  man,  something  is  still  found  wanting  by 
the  physiological  critic.  Can  a  return  to  nature,  then,  instantaneously 
eradicate  predispositions  that  have  been  slowly  taking  root  in  the  silence 
of  innumerable  ages? — Indubitably  not.  All  that  I  contend  for  is,  that 
from  the  moment  of  the  relinquishing  all  unnatural  habits,  no  new  dis- 
ease is  generated ;  and  that  the  predisposition  to  hereditary  maladies 
gradually  perishes,  for  want  of  its  accustomed  supply.  In  cases  of  con- 
sumption, cancer,  gout,  asthma,  and  scrofula,  such  is  the  invariable  ten- 
dency of  a  diet  of  vegetables  and  pure  water. 

Those  who  may  be  induced,  by  these  remarks,  to  give  the  vegetable 
system  a  fair  trial,  should,  in  the  first  place,  date  the  commencement  of 
their  practice  from  the  moment  of  their  conviction.  All  depends  upon 
breaking  through  a  pernicious  habit  resolutely,  and  at  once.  Dr.  Trotterf 
asserts,  that  no  drunkard  was  ever  reformed  by  gradually  relinquishing 
his  dram.  Animal  flesh,  in  its  effects  on  the  human  stomach,  is  analo- 
gous to  a  dram.  It  is  similar  to  the  kind,  though  differing  in  the  degree, 
of  its  operation.  The  proselyte  to  a  pure  diet  must  be  warned  to  a  tem- 
porary diminution  of  muscular  strength.  The  subtraction  of  a  powerful 
stimulus  will  suffice  to  account  for  this  event.  But  it  is  only  temporal y, 
and  is  succeeded  by  an  equable  capability  for  exertion,  far  surpassing  his 
former  various  and  fluctuating  strength.  Above  all,  he  will  acquire  an 
easiness  of  breathing,  by  which  such  exertion  is  performed  with  a  re- 
markable exemption  from  that  painful  and  difficult  panting  now  fc-lt  bj' 
almost  every  one,  after  hastily  climbing  an  ordinary  mountain.  He  will 
be  equally  capable  of  bodily  exertion,  or  mental  application,  after  as  be- 
fore his  simple  meal.  He  will  feel  none  of  the  narcotic  effects  of  ordinary 
diet.  Irritability,  the  direct  consequence  of  exhausting  stimuli,  would 
yield  to  the  power  of  natural  and  tranquil  impulses.     He  will  no  longer 

*  It  has  come  under  the  author's  experience,  that  some  of  the  workmen  on  an 
emhankment  in  North  Wales,  who,  in  consequence  of  the  inability  of  the  proprietor 
to  pay  them,  seldom  received  their  wages,  have  supported  large  families  by  cultivat- 
ing small  spots  of  sterile  ground  by  moonlight.  In  the  notes  to  Pratt's  poem, 
"  Bread,  or  the  Poor,"  is  an  account  of  an  industrious  Uhourer,  who,  by  working  in 
a  small  garden  before  and  after  his  day's  task,  attained  .0  an  enviable  state  of  inde- 
pendence. 

f  Sec  "  Trotter  on  the  Nervous  Temperament." 


TO  QUEEN   MAD.  137 

pine  under  the  lethargy  of  ennui,  that  unconquerable  weariness  ofvBfe 
more  to  be  dreaded  than  deatli  itself.  He  will  escape  the  epidemic  mad- 
ness which  broods  over  its  own  injurious  notions  of  the  Deity,  and  "  real- 
is,  s,  uie  hell  that  priests  and  beldams  feign."  Everyman  forms,  as  it 
were,  his  god  from  his  own  character  ;  to  the  divinity  of  one  of  simple 
habits  no  olfering  would  be  more  acceptable  than  the  happiness  of  his 
creatures.  He  would  be  incapable  of  hating  or  persecuting  others  for 
the  love  of  God.  He  will  find,  moreover,  a  system  of  simple  diet  to  be  a 
system  of  perfect  epicurism.  He  will  no  longer  be  incessantly  occupied 
in  bluntill  r  and  destroying  those  organs  from  which  he  expects  his  grati- 
fication. The  pleasures  of  taste  to  be  derived  from  a  dinner  of  potatoes, 
beans,  peas,  turnips,  lettuces,  with  a  desert  of  apples,  gooseberries,  straw- 
berries, currants,  raspberries,  and.  in  winter,  oranges,  apples,  and  pears, 
is  far  greater  than  is  supposed.  Those  who  wait  until  they  can  eat  this 
plain  if  re  with  the  sauce  of  appetite,  will  scarcely  join  with  the  hypocrit- 
ical sensualist  at  a  lord-mayor's  feast,  who  declaims  against  the  pleasures 
of  the  table.  Solomon  kept  a  thousand  concubines,  and  owned  in  despair 
that  all  was  vanity.  The  man  whose  happiness  is  constituted  by  the  so- 
ciety of  one  ami  ible  woman,  would  find  some  difficulty  in  sympathising 
with  the  disappointment  of  this  venerable  debauchee. 

I  address  myself  not  only  to  the  young  enthusiast,  the  ardent  devotee 
of  truth  and  virtue,  the  pure  and  passionate  moralist,  yet  unvitiated  by 
the  contagion  of  the  world.  He  will  embrace  a  pure  system  from  its  ab- 
stract truth,  its  beauty,  its  simplicity,  and  its  promise  of  wide,  extended 
benefit;  unless  custom  has  turned  poison  into  food,  he  will  hate  the  brutal 
pleasures  of  the  chase  by  instinct;  it  will  be  a  contemplation,  full  of 
horror  and  disappointment  to  his  mind,  that  beings  capable  of  the  gen- 
tlest and  most  admirable  sympathies,  should  take  delight  in  the  death- 
pangs  and  last  convulsions  of  dying  animals.  The  elderly  man,  whose 
youth  has  been  poisoned  by  intemperance,  or  who  has  lived  with  appa- 
rent moderation,  and  is  afflicted  with  a  variety  of  painful  maladies,  would 
find  his  account  in  a  beneficial  change  produced  without  the  risk  of  poi- 
sonous medicines.  The  mother,  to  whom  the  perpetual  restlessness  of 
disease,  and  unaccountable  deaths  incident  to  her  children,  are  the  causes 
of  incurable  unhappiness,  would,  on  this  diet,  experience  the  satisfaction 
of  beholding  their  perpetual  health  and  natural  playfulnes.*  The  most 
valuable  lives  are  daily  destroyed  by  diseases,  that  it  is  dangerous  to  pal- 
liate, and  impossible  to  cure  by  medicine.  How  much  longer  will  man 
continue  to  pimp  for  the  gluttony  of  death,  his  most  insidious,  implaca- 
ble, and  eternal  foe  ? 

"  You  apply  the  term  wild  to  lions,  panthers,  and  serpents,  yet  in  your 
own  savage  slaughters,  you  far  surpass  them  in  ierocitv,  for  the  blood 
shed  by  them  is  a  matter  of  necessity,  and  requisite  for  their  subsistence. 

That  man  is  not  by  nature  destine!  to  devour  animal  food,  is  evident 
from  the  construction  of  the  human  frame,  which  bears  no  resemblance 
to  wild  beasts,  or  birds  of  prey.  Man  is  not  provided  with  claws  or  talons, 
or  sharpness  of  fang,  or  tusk,  so  well  adapted  to  tear  and  lacerate :  nor  is 
his  stomach  so  well  braced  and  muscular,  nor  his  animal  spirits  so  warm 
as  to  enable  him  to  digest  this  solid  mass  of  animal  flesh.  On  the  con- 
trary, nature  has  made  his  teeth  smooth,  his  mouth  narrow,  and  his 
tongue  soft ;  and  has  contrived,  by  the  slowness  of  his  digestion,  to  divert 

*  See  Mr.  Newton's  book.  His  children  are  the  most  beautiful  and  healthy  crea- 
tures it  is  possible  to  conceive;  the  girls  are  perfect  models  for  a  sculptor ;  their 
He  and  conciliating  :  the  judicious  treatment 
nts,  may  be  a  correlative  cause  of  this.  In  the 
children  (hat  arc  born,  7,500  die  of  various  dis- 
;  that  survive  are  rendered  miserable  bv  mala- 


dispositions  are 

also  the  n 

Which  they  exp< 

first  five  years  o 

eases ;  and  how 

dies  not  immed 

terially  injured 

iv  tiie  use  o 

tables  are  to  be 

got,  the  ch 

weeks  old,  and 

be  popula 

UUL  of  Iceland. 

See  also  L 

138  NOTES  TO  QUEEN  MAB. 

Mwfrom  devouring  a  species  of  food  so  ill  adapted  to  his  frame  and  con- 
stitution. 

But  if  you  still  maintain,  that  such  is  your  natural  mode  of  subsistence, 
then  follow  nature  in  your  mode  of  killing  your  prey,  and  employ  neither 
knife,  hammer,  or  hatchet,  but,  like  wolves,  bears,  and  lions,  seize  an  ox 
with  your  teeth,  grasp  a  boar  round  the  body,  or  tear  asunder  a  lamb  or 
a  hare,  and,  like  the  savage  tribe,  devour  them  still  panting  in  the  ago- 
nies of  death. 

"We  carry  our  luxury  still  farther,  by  the  variety  of  sauces  and  season- 
ings which  we  add  to  our  beastly  banquets,  mixing  together  oil,  wine, 
honey,  pickles,  vinegar,  and  Syrian  and  Arabian  ointments  andperfumes, 
as  if  we  intended  to  bury  and  embalm  the  carcases  on  which  we  feed. 
The  difficulty  of  digesting  such  a  mass  of  matter  reduced  in  our  stomachs 
to  a  state  of  liquefaction  and  putrefaction,  is  the  source  of  endless  disor- 
ders in  the  human  frame. 

First  of  all,  the  wild,  mischievous  animals  were  selected  for  food,  and 
then  the  birds,  and  fishes  were  dragged  to  slaughter ;  next  the  human  ap- 
petite directed  itself  against  the  laborious  ox,  the  useful  and  fleece-bear- 
ing sheep,  and  the  cock,  the  guardian  of  the  house.  At  last,  by  this  pre- 
paratory discipline,  man  became  matured  for  human  massacres,  slaught- 
ers, and  wars. 


OF  THE  NOTES  TO  &UEE!J   Mai 


DEDICATION 

TO 

MARY 


5o  now  my  summer-task  is  ended,  Mary, 

And  I  return  to  thee,  mine  own  hearfs'home  : 

As  to  his  Queen  some  victor  Knight  of  Faery, 

F.arning  bright  spoils  for  lier  enchanted  dome: 

Nor  thou  disdain,  that,  ere  mv  fame  become 

A  star  among  the  stars  of  mortal  night, 

It  it  indeed  may  cleave  its  natal  gloom, 

Its  doubtful  promise  thus  I  would  unite 

With  thy  beloved  name,  thou  Child  oflove  and  light. 

The  toil  which  stole  from  thee  so  many  an  hour 

Is  ended,  and  the  fruit  is  at  thy  feet  ! 

No  longer  where  the  woods,  to  frame  a  bower, 

M  lth  interlaced  branches  mix  and  meet, 

Or  where,  with  sound  like  many  voices  sweet, 

Water-falls  leap  anion.,-  wild  islands  green, 

Vouch  iramed  lor  my  lone  boat  a  lone  retreat 

Ol  moss-grown  trees  and  weeds,  shall  I  be  seen  : 

.But  beside  thee,  where  still  my  heart  has  ever  been. 

Thoughts  of  mat  deeds  were  mine,  dear  Friend,  when  firft 
J  lie  c.onds  which  wrap  this  world  from  voilth  did  pass. 
I  do  remember  well  the  hour  which  burst 
My  spirits'  sleep  :  a  fresh  May-dawn  it  was, 
When  I  walked  forth  upon  the'  filtering  grass, 
And  wept,  I  knew  not  why  :    until  there  rose 
From  the  near  school-room  voices,  that  alas' 
Were  but  one  echo  from  a  world  of  woes'— 
Tlu  aarsh  and  grating  strife  of  tyrants  and  of  foes. 
And  then  I  clasped  my  hands  and  looked  around— 
But  none  was  near  to  mock  my  streaming  eves, 
^  Inch  poured  their  warm  drops  on  the  sunny  ground- 
So  without  shame  I  spake :— "  I  will  be  wise. 
And  just,  and  free,  and  mild,  if  in  me  lies 
Such  power,  for  I  grow  wearv  to  behold 
The  selfish  and  the  strong  still  tyrannise 
M  ithout  reproach  or  check."     I  then  controlled 
My  tears,  my  heart  grew  calm,  and  I  was  meek  and  bold. 
And  from  that  hour  did  I  with  earnest  thought 
Heap  knowledge  Iroin  forbiduen  mines  of  lore, 
"iet  nothing  that  mv  t\  rants  knew  or  taught 
I  cared  to  learn,  but  from  that  secret  store 
Wrought  linked  armour  for  mv  soul,  before 
li  might  walk  forth  to  war  anion"  mankind- 
W«hiS°,I!r.*nd.i?0pe  Were  stre"Stliened  more  and  mow 
Within  me,  till  there  came  upon  my  mind 
A  sense  of  loneliness,  a  thirst  with  which  I  pined. 
Alas  !  that  love  should  be  a  blight  and  snare 
To  those  who  seek  all  svmpathies  in  one  '— 
Such  once  I  sought  i„  vain  ;  thm  Mark  despair, 
The  shadow  of  a  starless  nU-ht,  was  thrown 
Over  the  world  in  which  I  moved  alone  — 
"i'et  never  found  1  one  not  false  to  me— 
Hard  hearts,  and  cold,  like  weights  of  icy  stone 
Which  crushed  and  withered  mine,  that  ennui  not  be 
Aught  but  a  lifeless  clog,  until  revived  by  thee. 
Thou  Friend,  whose  presence  on  my  wintry  heart 
Fell  like  bright  Spring  upon  some  herbless' plain, 
How  bcautitul,  and  calm,  and  free  thou  wert 
In  thy  young  wisdom,  when  the  mortal  chain 
Ot  Custom  thou  didst  hur-.t  and  rend  in  twain 
Ami  walked  as  tree  as  light  the  clouds  among, 
V, huh  many  an  envious  slave  then  hreathed'in  vain 
From  his  dim  dungeon,  and  mv  spirit  sprung 
lo  meet  thee  from  the  woes  which  had  begirt  it  long. 


DEDICATION. 

No  more  alone  through  the  world's  wilderness, 

Although  I  trod  the  paths  of  high  intent, 

I  lourneve-i  now:  no  more  companionlesa, 

Where  solitude  is  like  despair,  I  went.— 

There  is  the  wisdom  ofa  stern  content 

'.Vlieii  I'uvertv  can  blight  the  just  and  good, 

When  Infatm  dares  mock  (he  innocent, 

Ami  cherished  I'riends  turn  v.'ith  the  multitude 

To  trample  :  this  was  ours,  and  we  unshaken  stood  I 

Now  has  descended  a  serener  hour, 

And  wilh  inconstant  fortune  friends  return: 

Though  suffering  leaves  the  knowledge  and  the  powcl 

Which  says  -Let  scorn  be  not  repaid  with  scorn. 

And  from  thy  side  two  gentle  babes  are  born, 

To  lill  our  home  with  smiles,  and  thus  are  we 

Most  fortunate  beneath  life's  beaming  morn: 

And  these  delights,  and  thou,  have  been  to  me 

The  parents  of  the  Song  I  consecrate  to  thee. 


Or  run   •  the  !;.leon  -Much  my  spirit  lingers 

Thonirh  it  mi. -lit  sh  ike  the  Anarch  Custom's  reign, 

And.h.nn  the  mi. els  of  men  to  Truth's  own  «way, 

Holier  than  was  Amphion's  ?     I  would  fain 

Reply  in  hope-hut  I  am  worn  away, 

And  Death  and  Love  are  yet  contending  for  their  prey 

And  what  art  thou  ?     I  know,  hut  dare  not  speak  : 
Time  may  interpret  to  his  silent  years. 
Yet  in  the  paleness  of  thy  thoughtful  cheek, 
And  in  the  light  thine  ample  forehead  wears, 
And  in  thy  sweetest  smiles,  and  in  thy  tears, 
And  in  thy  gentle  speech,  a  prophecy 
Is  whispered,  to  subdue  my  fondest  fears  : 
And  through  thine  eyes,  even  in  thy  soul,  I  see 
A  lamp  of  vestal  lire'  burning  internally. 

They  say  that  thou  wert  lovely  from  thy  birth, 

Of  glorious  parents,  thou  aspiring  Child. 

I  wonder  not— for  One  then  left  this  earth 

Whose  life  was  like  a  setting  ptanet  mild, 

Which  clothed  thee  in  the  radiance  undefiled 

Of  its  departing  glorv  ;  still  her  fame 

Shines  on  thee  through  the  tempests  dark  and  wild 

Which  shake  these  latter  days  ;  and  thou  canst  claivfl 

The  shelter,  from  thy  Sire,  of  an  immortal  name. 

One  voice  came  forth  from  many  a  mighty  spirit, 

which  was  the  echo  of  three  thousand  years  ; 

And  the  tumultuous  worl  (  stood  mute  to  hear  it, 

As  some  lone  man  who  in  a  desert  hears 

The  music  of  his  home  :— unwonted  fears 

Fell  on  the  pale  oppressors  of  our  race, 

And  Faith,  and  Custom,  and  low-thoughtcd  cares, 

Like  thund  'r-stricken  dragons,  for  a  space 

Left  the  torn  human  heart,  their  food  and  dwelling-J'jii*, 

Truth's  deathless  voice  pauses  among  mankind  I 
If  there  must  he  no  response  to  my  cry— 
If  men  must  rise  and  stamp  with  fury  blind 
On  his  pure  name  who  loves  them,— thou  and  I, 
Sweet  friend  !  can  look  from  our  tranquillity 
Like  lamps  into  the  world's  tempestuous  night, 
Two  tranquil  stars,  while  clouds  are  passing  by 
Which  wrap  them  from  the  foundering  seaman's  sight. 
That  burn  from  vear  to  year  with  unextinguished  light. 


THE 

REVOLT   OF   ISLAM. 


When  the  last  hope  of  trampled  France  had  failed 

Like  a  brief  dream  of  unremaining  glory, 

From  visions  of  despair  I  rose,  and  scaled 

The  peak  of  an  aerial  promontory. 

Whose  caverned  base  with  the  vexed  surge  was  hoary; 

And  saw  the  golden  dawn  break  forth,  and  waken 

Each  cloud,  and  every  wave  : — but  transitory 

The  calm  :  for  sudden,  the  firm  earth  was  shaken, 

As  if  by  the  last  wreck  its  frame  were  overtaken. 

So  as  I  stood,  one  blast  of  muttering  thunder 

Burst  in  far  peals  along  the  waveless  deep, 

When,  gathering  fast,  around,  above,  and  under, 

Long  trains  of  tremulous  mist  began  to  creep, 

Until  their  complicating  lines  did  steep 

The  orient  sun  in  shadow: — not  a  sound 

Was  heard  ;  one  horrible  repose  did  keep 

The  forests  and  the  floods,  and  all  around 

Darkness  more  dread  than  night  was  poured  upon  the  ground. 

Hark!  'tis  the  rushing  of  a  wind  that  sweeps 

Earth  and  the  ocean.     See!  the  lightnings  yawn 

Deluging  Heaven  with  fire,  and  the  lashed  deeps 

Glitter  and  boil  beneath  :  it  rages  on, 

One  mighty  stream,  whirlwind  and  waves  upthrown, 

Lightning  and  hail,  and  darkness  eddying  by, 

There  is  a  pause — the  sea-birds,  that  were  gone 

Into  their  caves  to  shriek,  come  forth  to  spy 

What  calm  has  fall'n  on  earth,  what  light  is  in  the  sky. 

For,  where  the  irresistible  storm  had  cloven 

That  fearful  darkness,  the  blue  sky  was  seen 

Fretted  with  many  a  fair  cloud  interwoven 

Most  delicately,  and  the  ocean  green, 

Beneath  that  opening  spot  of  blue  serene, 

Quivered  like  burning  emerald  :  calm  was  spread 

On  all  below  ;  but  far  on  high,  between 

Earth  and  the  upper  air,  the  vast  clouds  fled, 

Countless  and  swift  as  leaves  on  autumn's  tempest  shed. 

For  ever,  as  the  war  became  more  fierce 
Between  the  whirlwinds  and  the  rack  on  high, 
13 


140  THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM. 

That  spot  grew  more  serene  ;  blue  light  did  pierce 

The  woof  of  those  white  clouds,  which  seemed  to  lie 

Far,  deep,  and  motionless  ;  while  thro'  the  sky 

The  pallid  semicircle  of  the  moon 

Pass'd  on,  in  slow  and  moving  majesty; 

Its  upper  horn  arrayed  in  mists,  which  soon 

But  slowly  fled,  like  dew  beneath  the  beams  of  noon. 

I  could  not  choose  but  gaze  ;  a  fascination 

Dwelt  in  that  moon,  and  sky,  and  clouds,  which  drew 

My  fancy  thither,  and  in  expectation 

Of  what  I  knew  not,  I  remained :— the  hue 

Of  the  white  moon,  amid  that  heaven  so  blue, 

Suddenly  stained  with  shadow  did  appear; 

A  speck,  a  cloud,  a  shape,  approaching  grew, 

Like  a  great  ship  in  the  sun's  sinking  sphere 

Beheld  afar  at  sea,  and  swift  it  came  anear — 

Even  like  a  bark,  which  from  a  chasm  of  mountains, 

Dark,  vast,  and  overhanging,  on  a  river 

Which  there  collects  the  strength  of  all  its  fountains, 

Comes  forth,  whilst  with  the  speed  its  frame  doth  quiver, 

Sails,  oars,  and  stream,  tending  to  one  endeavour; 

So,  from  that  chasm  of  light  a  winged  Form 

On  all  the  winds  of  heaven  approaching  ever 

Floated,  dilating  as  it  came  :  the  storm 

Pursued  it  with  fierce  blasts,  and  lightnings  swift  and  warm, 

A  course  precipitous,  of  dizzy  speed, 

Suspending  thought  and  breath  ;  a  monstrous  sight! 

For  in  the  air  do  I  behold  indeed 

An  Eagle  and  a  Serpent  wreathed  in  fight : — 

And  now,  relaxing  its  impetuous  flight 

Before  the  aerial  rock  on  which  I  stood, 

The  Eagle,  hovering,  wheeled  to  left  and  right, 

And  hung  with  lingering  wings  over  the  flood, 

And  startled  with  its  yells  the  wide  air's  solitude. 

A  shaft  of  light  upon  its  wings  descended, 

And  every  golden  feather  gleamed  therein — 

Feather  and  scale  inextricably  blended. 

The  Serpent's  mailed  and  many-coloured  skin 

Shone  thro'  the  plumes ;  its  coils  were  twined  within 

By  many  a  swollen  and  knotted  fold,  and  high 

And  far,  the  neck  receding  lithe  and  thin, 

Sustained  a  crested  head,  which  warily 

Shifted  and  glanced  before  the  Eagle's  stedfast  eye. 

Around,  around,  in  ceaseless  circles  wheeling, 
With  clang  of  wings  and  scream,  the  Eagle  sailed 


THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLA.M.  141 

Incessantly — sometimes  on  high  concealing 

Its  lessening  orbs,  sometimes  as  if  it  tailed, 

Drooped  through  the  air;  and  still  it  shrieked  and  wailed, 

And  casting  back  its  eager  head,  with  beak 

And  talon  unremittingly  assailed 

1'he  wreathed  Serpent,  who  did  ever  seek 

jjpon  his  enemy's  heart  a  mortal  wound  to  wreak. 

What  life,  what  power,  was  kindled  and  arose 

Within  the  sphere  of  that  appalling  fray! 

For,  from  the  encounter  of  those  wond'rous  foes, 

A  vapour  like  the  sea's  suspended  spray 

Hung  gathered :  in  the  void  air,  far  away, 

Floated  the  shattered  plumes  ;  bright  scales  did  leap, 

Where'er  the  Eagle's  talons  made  their  way, 

Like  sparks  into  the  darkness: — as  they  sweep, 

Blood  stains  the  snowy  form  of  the  tumultuous  deep. 

Swift  chances  in  that  combat — many  a  check, 
And  many  a  change,  a  dark  and  wild  turmoil; 
Sometimes  the  Snake  around  his  enemy's  neck 
Locked  in  stiff  rings  his  adamantine  coil, 
Until  the  Eagle,  faint  with  pain  and  toil, 
Remitted  his  strong  flight,  and  near  the  sea 
Languidly  fluttered,  hopeless  so  to  foil 
His  adversary,  who  then  reared  on  high 
His  red  and  burning  crest,  radiant  with  victory. 

Then,  on  the  white  edge  of  the  bursting  surge, 

Where  they  had  sunk  together,  would  the  Snake 

Relax  his  suffocating  grasp,  and  scourge 

The  wind  with  his  wild  writhings  ;  for,  to  break 

That  chain  of  torment,  the  vast  bird  would  shake 

The  strength  of  his  unconquerable  wings 

As  in  despair,  and  with  his  sinewy  neck 

Dissolve  in  sudden  shock  those  linked  rings, 

Then  soar — as  swift  as  smoke  from  a  volcano  springs. 

Wile  baffled  wile,  and  strengten — countered  strength. 

Thus  long,  but  unprevailing:hthe  event 

Of  that  portentous  fight  appeared  at  length  : 

Until  the  lamp  of  day  was  almost  spent 

It  had  endured,  when  lifeless,  stark,  and  rent, 

Hung  high  that  mighty  Serpent,  and  at  last, 

Fell  to  the  sea,  while   o'er  the  continent, 

With  clang  of  wings  and  scream  the  Eagle  past, 

Heavily  borne  away  on  the  exhausted  blast. 

And  with  it  fled  the  tempest,  so  that  ocean 

And  earth  and  sky  shone  through  the  atmosphere— 


142  THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM. 

Only,  'twas  strange  to  see  the  red  commotion 

Of  waves  like  mountains  o'er  the  sinking  sphere 

Of  sun-set  sweep,  and  their  fierce  roar  to  hear 

Amid  the  calm  :  down  the  steep  path  I  wound 

To  the  sea-shore — the  evening  was  most  clear 

And  beautiful,  and  there  the  sea  I  found 

Calm  as  a  cradled  child  in  dreamless  slumber  bound. 

There  was  a  Woman,  beautiful  as  morning, 
Sitting  beneath  the  rocks,  upon  the  sand 
Of  the  waste  seafair —  as  one  flower  adorning 
An  icy  wilderness — each  delicate  hand 
Lay  crossed  upon  her  bosom,  and  the  band 
Of  her  dark  hair  had  fall'n,  and  so  she  sate 
Looking  upon  the  waves ;  on  the  bare  strand 
Upon  the  sea-mark  a  small  boat  did  wait, 
Fair  as  herself,  like  Love  by  Hope  left  desolate. 

It  seemed  that  this  fair  Shape  had  looked  upon 

That  unimaginable  fight,  and  now 

That  her  sweet  eyes  were  weary  of  the  sun, 

As  brightly  it  illustrated  her  woe ; 

For  in  the  tears  which  silently  to  flow 

Paused  not,  its  lustre  hung :  she,  watching  aye 

The  foam -wreathes  which  the  faint  tide  wove  below 

Upon  the  spangled  sands,  groaned  heavily, 

And  after  every  groan  looked  up  over  the  sea. 

And  when  she  saw  the  wounded  Serpent  make 
His  path  between  the  waves,  her  lips  grew  pale, 
Parted,  and  quivered  ;  the  tears  ceased  to  break 
From  her  immovable  eyes  ;    no  voice  of  wail 
Escaped  her ;  but  she  rose,  and,  on  the  gale 
Loosening  her  star-bright  robe  and  shadowy  hair, 
Poured  forth  her  voice,  the  caverns  of  the  vale, 
That  opened  to  the  ocean,  caught  it  there, 
And  filled  with  silver  sounds  the  overflowing  air. 

She  spake  in  language  whose  strange  melody 
Might  not  belong  to  earth.     I  heard,  alone, 
What  made  its  music  more  melodious  be, 
The  pity  and  the  love  ofevery  tone  ; 
But  to  the  snake  those  accents  sweet  were  known, 
His  native  tongue  and  hers  ;  nor  did  he  beat 
The  hoar  spray  idly  then,  but,  winding  on 
Through  the  green' shadows  of  the  waves  that  meet 
Near  to  the  shore,  did  pause  beside  her  snowy  feet. 

Then  on  the  sands  the  Woman  sate  again, 

And  wept  and  clasped  her  hands,  and  all  between, 


THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM.  143 

Renewed  the  unintelligible  strain 

Of  her  melodious  voice  and  eloquent  mien  ; 

And  she  unveiled  her  bosom,  and  the  green 

And  glancing  shadows  of  the  sea  did  play 

O'er  its  marmoreal  depth  : — one  moment  seen, 

For  ere  the  next,  the  Serpent  did  obey 

Her  voice,  and,  coiled  in  rest,  in  her  embrace  it  lay. 

Then  she  arose,  and  smiled  on  me  with  eyes 

Serene,  yet  sorrowing,  like  that  planet  fair, 

While  yet  the  day-light  lingereth  in  the  skies 

Which  cleaves  with  arrowy  beams  the  dark-red  air, 

And  said :  To  grieve  is  wise,  but  the  despair 

Was  weak  and  vain  which  led  thee  here  from  sleep  : 

This  shalt  thou  know,  and  more,  if  thou  dost  dare 

With  me  and  with  this  Serpent,  o'er  the  deep, 

A  voyage  divine  and  strange,  companionship  to  keep. 

Her  voice  was  like  the  wildest,  saddest  tone, 
Yet  sweet,  of  some  loved  voice  heard  long  ago. 
I  wept.     Shall  this  fair  woman  all  alone 
Over  the  sea  with  that  fierce  Serpent  go? 
His  head  is  on  her  heart,  and  who  can  know 
How  soon  he  may  devour  his  feeble  prey? — 
Such  were  my  thoughts,  when  the  tide  'gan  to  flow: 
And  that  strange  boat,  like  the  moon's  shade,  did  sway 
Amid  reflected  stars  that  in  the  waters  lay. 

A  boat  of  rare  device,  which  had  no  sail 

But  its  own  carved  prow  of  thin  moonstone, 

Wrought  like  a  web  of  texture  fine  and  frail, 

To  catch  those  gentlest  winds  which  are  not  known 

To  breath,  but  by  the  steady  speed  alone 

With  which  it  cleaves  the  sparkling  sea ;  and  now 

We  are  embarked,  the  mountains  hang  and  frown 

Over  the  starry  deep  that  gleams  below 

A  vast  and  dim  expanse,  as  o'er  the  waves  we  go. 

And,  as  we  sailed,  a  strange  and  awful  tale 
That  Woman  told,  like  such  mysterious  dream 
As  makes  the  slumberer's  cheek  with  wonder  pale! 
'Twas  midnight,  and  around,  a  shoreless  stream, 
Wide  ocean  rolled,  when  that  majestic  theme 
Shrined  in  her  heart  found  utterance,  and  she  bent 
Her  looks  on  mine  :  those  eyes  a  kindling  beam 
Of  love  divine  into  my  spirit  sent, 
And,  ere  her  lips  could  move,  made  the  air  eloquent. 

Speak  not  to  me,  but  hear  !  Much  shalt  thou  learn, 
Much  must  remain  untaught,  and  more  untold, 
"  13* 


144  THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM. 

In  the  dark  Future's  ever-flowing  urn  : 

Know  them,  that,  from  the  depths  of  ages  old, 

Two  Powers  o'er  mortal  things  dominion  hold, 

Ruling  the  world  with  a  divided  lot, 

Immortal,  all-pervading,  manifold, 

Twin  Genii,  equal  Gods — when  life  and  thought 

Sprang  forth,  they  burst  the  womb  of  inessential  Nought. 

The  earliest  dweller  of  the  world  alone 

Stood  on  the  verge  of  chaos  :  Lo  !  afar 

O'er  the  wide  wild  abyss  two  meteors  shone, 

Sprung  from  the  depth  of  its  tempestuous  jar  : 

A  blood-red  Comet  and  the  Morning  Star 

Mingling  their  beams  in  combat — as  he  stood, 

All  thoughts  within  his  Tnind  waged  mutual  war, 

In  dreadful  sympathy — when  to  the  flood 

That  fair  Star  fell,  he  turned  and  shed  his  brother's  blood. 

Thus  evil  triumphed,  and  the  Spirit  of  evil, 

One  Power  of  many  shapes  which  none  may  know, 

One  Shape  of  many  names  :  the  Fiend  did  revel 

In  victory,  reigning  o'er  a  world  of  woe, 

For  the  new  race  of  man  went  to  and  fro, 

Famished  and  homeless,  loathed  and  loathing,  wild, 

And  hating  good — for  his  immortal  foe 

He  changed  from  starry  shape,  beauteous  and  mil ', 

To  a  dire  Snake,  with  man  and  beast  unreconciled. 

The  darkness  lingering  o'er  the  dawn  of  things 

Was  Evil's  breath  and  life  :  this  made  him  strong 

To  soar  aloft  with  overshadowing  wings  ; 

And  the  great  Spirit  of  Good  did  creep  among 

The  nations  of  mankind,  and  every  tongue 

Cursed  and  blasphemed  him  as  he  passed  ;  for  none 

Knew  good  from  evil,  though  their  names  were  hung 

In  mockery  o'er  the  fane  where  many  a  groan, 

As  King,  and  Lord,  and  God,  the  conquering  Fiend  did  own. 

The  fiend,  whose  name  was  Legion  ;  Death,  Decay, 
Earthquake,  and  Blight,  and  want,  and  Madness  pale, 
Winged  and  wan  disease,  and  array 
Numerous  as  leaves  that  strew  the  autumnal  gale  ; 
Poison,  a  snake  in  flowers,  beneath  the  veil 
Of  food  and  mirth,  hiding  his  mortal  head  ; 
And,  without  whom  all  these  might  nought  avail, 
Fear,  Hatred,  Faith,  and  Tyranny,  who  spread 
Those  subtle  nets  which  snare  the  living  and  th    dead. 

His  spirit  is  their  power,  and  they  his  slaves 

In  air,  and  light,  and  thought,  and  language,  dwell ; 

And  keep  their  state  from  palaces  to  graves, 


THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM.  145 

In  ail  resorts  of  men — invisible, 

But  when,  in  ebon  mirror,  Nightmare  fell, 

To  tyrant  or  impostor  bids  them  rise, 

Black-winged  demon  forms — whom  from  the  hell, 

His  reign  and  dwelling  beneath  nether  skies, 

He  loosens  to  their  dark  and  blasting  ministries. 

In  the  world's  youths  his  empire  was  as  firm 
As  its  foundations— soon  the  Spirit  of  Good, 
Though  in  the  likeness  of  a  loathsome  worm, 
Sprang  from  the  billows  of  the  formless  flood, 
Which  shrank  and  fled  ;  and  with  that  fiend  of  blood 
Renewed  the  doubtful  war — thrones  then  first  shook, 
And  earth's  immense  and  trampled  multitude 
In  hope  on  their  own  powers  began  to  look, 
And  Fear,  the  demon  pale,  his  sanguine  shrine  forsook. 

Then  Greece  arose,  and  to  its  bards  and  sages, 

In  dream,  the  golden-pinioned  Genii  came, 

Even  where  they  slept  amid  the  night  of  ages 

Steeping  their  hearts  in  the  divinest  flame 

Which  thy  breath  kindled,  Power  of  holiest  name! 

And  oft  in  cycles  since,  when  darkness  gave 

New  weapons  to  thy  foe,  their  sunlike  fame 

Upon  the  combat  shone — a  light  to  save, 

Like  Paradise  spread  forth  beyond  the  shadowy  grave. 

Such  is  this  conflict — when  mankind  doth  strive 

With  its  oppressors  in  a  strife  of  blood, 

Or  when  free  thoughts,  like  lightnings,  are  alive ; 

And  in  each  bosom  of  the  multitude 

Justice  and  truth,  which  custom's  hydra  brood, 

Wage  silent  war ; — when  priests  and  kings  dissemble 

In  smiles  or  frowns  their  fierce  disquietude, 

When  round  pure  hearts  a  host  of  hopes  assemble, 

The  Snake  and  Eagle  meet — the  world's  foundations  tremble. 

Thou  hast  beheld  that  fight — when  to  thy  home 
Thou  dost  return,  steep  not  its  hearth  in  tears  ; 
Though  thou  may'st  hear  that  earth  is  now  become 
The  tyrant's  garbage,  which  to  his  compeers, 
The  vile  reward  of  their  dishonoured  years 
He  will  dividing  give — the  victor  Fiend 
Omnipotent  of  yore,  now  quails,  and  fears 
His  triumph  dearly  won,  which  soon  will  lend 
An  impulse  swift  and  sure  to  his  approaching  end. 

List,  stranger,  list !     Mine  is  a  human  form, 

Like  that  thou  wearest — touch  me — shrink  not  now ! 

My  hand  thou  feel'st  is  not  a  ghost's,  but  warm 


146  THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM. 

With  human  blood. — 'Tvvas  many  years  ago, 
Since  first  my  thirsting  soul  aspired  to  know 
The  secrets  of  this  wondrous  world,  when  deep 
My  heart  was  pierced  with  sympathy,  for  woe, 
Which  could  not  be  mine  own — and  thought  did  keep 
In  dream,  unnatural  watch  beside  an  infant's  sleep. 

Woe  could  not  be  mine  own — since  far  from  men 
I  dwelt,  a  free  and  happy  orphan  child, 
By  the  sea-shore,  in  a  deep  mountain  glen  ; 
And  near  the  waves,  and  through  the  forests  wild, 
I  roamed,  to  storm  and  darkness  reconciled, 
For  I  was  calm  while  tempest  shook  the  sky  : 
But,  when  the  breathless  heavens  in  beauty  smiled, 
I  wept  sweet  tears,  yet  too  tumultuously 
For  peace,  and  clasped  my  hands  aloft  in  ecstasy. 

These  were  forebodings  of  my  fate. — Before 
A  woman's  heart  beat  in  my  virgin  breast, 
It  had  been  nurtured  in  divinest  lore  : 
A  dying  poet  gave  me  books,  and  blest 
With  wild  but  holy  talk  the  sweet  unrest 
In  which  I  watched  him  as  he  died  away — 
A  youth  with  hoary  hair — a  fleeting  guest 
Of  our  lone  mountains — and  this  lore  did  sway 
My  spirit  like  a  storm,  contending  there  alway. 

Thus  the  dark  tale  which  history  doth  unfold, 

I  knew,  but  not,  methinks,  as  others  know, 

For  they  weep  not ;  and  Wisdom  had  unrolled 

The  clouds  which  hide  the  gulf  of  mortal  woe  : 

To  few  can  she  that  warning  vision  show, 

For  I  loved  all  things  with  intense  devotion  ; 

So  that  when  Hope's  deep  scource  in  fullest  flow, 

Like  earthquake,  did  uplift  the  stagnant  ocean 

Of  human  thoughts — mine  shook  beneath  the  wide  emotion. 

When  first  the  living  blood  through  all  these  veins 
Kindled  a  thought  in  sense,  great  France  sprang  forth 
And  seized,  as  if  to  break,  the  ponderous  chains 
Which  bind  in  woe  the  nations  of  the  earth. 
I  saw,  and  started  from  my  cottage  hearth  ; 
And  to  the  clouds  and  waves  in  tameless  gladness 
Shrieked,  till  they  caught  immeasurable  mirth — ■ 
And  laughed  in  light  and  music  :  s»on,  sweet  madness 
Mas  poured  upon  my  heart,  a  soft  and  thrilling  sadness. 

Deep  slumber  fell  on  me  ; — my  dreams  were  fire, 
Soft  and  delightful  thoughts  did  rest  and  hover 
Like  shadows  o'er  my  brain  ;  and  strange  desire, 
The  tempest  of  a  passion,  raging  over 


THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM.  147 

My  tranquil  soul,  its  depths  with  light  did  cover, 

Which  past ;  and  calm,  and  darkness,  sweeter  far 

Came — then  I  loved ;  but  not  human  lover  ! 

For  when  I  rose  from  sleep,  the  Morning  Star  [were. 

Shone  thro'  the  woodbine  wreaths  which  round  my  casement 

'Twas  like  an  eye  which  seemed  to  smile  on  me. 

I  watched,  till  by  the  sun  made  pale,  it  sank 

Under  the  billows  of  the  heaving  sea  ; 

But  from  its  beams  deep  love  my  spirit  drank, 

And  to  my  brain  the  boundless  world  now  shrank 

Into  one  thought — one  image — yea,  for  ever  ! 

Even  like  the  day  spring,  poured  on  vapours  dank, 

The  beams  of  that  one  Star  did  shoot  and  quiver 

Through  my  benighted  mind — and  were  extinguished  never. 

The  day  past  thus :  at  night,  methought  in  dream 

A  shape  of  speechless  beauty  did  appear; 

It  stood  like  light  on  a  careering  stream 

Of  golden  clouds  which  shook  the  atmosphere  ; 

A  winged  youth,  his  radiant  brow  did  wear 

The  Morning  Star :  a  wild  dissolving  bliss 

Over  my  frame  he  breathed,  approaching  near, 

And  bent  his  eyes  of  kindling  tenderness 

Near  mine,  and  on  my  lips  impressed  a  lingering  kiss, — 

And  said  :  A  Spirit  loves  thee,  mortal  maiden : 

How  wilt  thou  prove  thy  worth  ?  Then  joy  and  sleep 

Together  fled  ;  my  soul  was  deeply  laden, 

And  to  the  shore  I  went  to  muse  and  weep ; 

But,  as  I  moved,  over  my  heart  did  creep 

A  joy  less  soft,  but  more  profound  and  strong 

Than  my  sweet  dream  ;  and  it  forbade  to  keep 

The  path  of  the  sea-shore :  that  Spirit's  tongue 

Stemed  whispering  in  my  heart,  and  bore  my  steps  along. 

How,  to  that  vast  and  peopled  city  led, 

"Which  was  a  field  of  holy  warfare  then, 

I  walked  among  the  dying  and  the  dead, 

And  shared  in  fearless  deeds  with  evil  men. 

Calm  as  an  angel  in  the  dragon's  den — 

How  I  braved  death  for  liberty  and  truth, 

And  spurned  at  peace,  and  power,  and  fame  ;  and  when 

Tliose  hopes  had  lost  the  glory  of  their  youth, 

How  sadly  I  returned — might  move  the  hearer's  ruth. 

Warm  tears  throng  fast !  the  tale  may  not  be  said — 
Know  then,  that  when  this  grief  had  been  subdued, 
I  was  not  left,  like  others,  cold  and  dead  ; 
The  Spirit  whom  I  loved  in  solitude 
Sustained  his  child :  the  tempest-shaken  wood, 


148  THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM. 

The  waves,  the  fountains,  and  the  hush  of  night — 

These  were  his  voice,  and  well  I  understood 

His  smile  divine,  when  the  calm  sea  was  bright 

With  silent  stars,  and  Heaven  was  breathless  with  delight 

In  lonely  glens,  amid  the  roar  of  rivers, 

When  the  dim  nights  were  moonless,  have  I  known 

Joys  which  no  tongue  can  tell ;  my  pale  lip  quivers 

When  thought  revisits  them: — know  thou  alone, 

That,  after  many  wondrous  years  were  flown, 

I  was  awakened  by  a  shriek  of  woe  ; 

And  over  me  a  mystic  robe  was  thrown, 

By  viewless  hands,  and  a  bright  Star  did  glow 

Before  my  steps — the  Snake  then  met  his  mortal  foe. 

Thou  fearest  not  then  the  Serpent  on  thy  heart? 
Fear  it !  she  said,  with  brief  and  passionate  cry, 
And  spake  no  more  :  that  silence  made  me  start— 
I  looked,  and  we  were  sailing  pleasantly, 
Swift  as  a  cloud  between  the  sea  and  sky. 
Beneath  the  rising  moon  seen  far  away ; 
Mountains  of  ice,  like  sapphire,  piled  on  high 
Hemming  the  horizon  round,  in  silence  lay 
On  the  still  waters — these  we  did  approach  alway. 

And  swift  and  swifter  grew  the  vessel's  motion, 
So  that  a  dizzy  trance  fell  on  my  brain — 
Wild  music  woke  me  :  we  had  passed  the  ocean 
Which  girds  the  pole,  Nature's  remotest  reign — 
And  we  glode  fast  o'er  a  pellucid  plain 
Of  waters,  azure  with  the  noon-tide  day. 
Ethereal  mountains  shone  around — a  Fane 
Stood  in  the  midst,  girt  by  green  isles  which  lay, 
On  the  blue  sunny  deep,  resplendent,  far  away. 

It  was  a  Temple,  such  as  mortal  hand 
Has  never  built,  nor  ecstasy,  nor  dream, 
Reared  in  the  cities  of  enchanted  land  : 
Tvvas  likest  Heaven,  ere  yet  day's  purple  stream 
Ebbs  o'er  the  western  forest,  while  the  gleam 
Of  the  unrisen  moon  among  the  clouds 
Is  gathering — when  with  many  a  golden  beam 
The  thronging  constellations  rush  in  crowds, 
Paving  with  fire  the  sky  and  the  marmoreal  floods . 

Like  what  may  be  conceived  of  this  vast  dome, 

When  from  the  depths  which  thought  can  seldom  pierce, 

Genius  beholds  it  rise,  his  native  home, 

Girt  by  the  deserts  of  the  Universe, 

Yet,  nor  painting's  light,  or  mightier  verse, 


THE  REVOLT  OE  ISLAM. 

Or  sculpture's  marble  language,  can  invest 

That  shape  to  mortal  sense — such  glooms  immerse 

That  incommunicable  sight,  and  rest 

Upon  the  labouring  brain  and  over-burthened  breast. 

Winding  among  the  lawny  islands  fair, 

Whose  bloomy  forests  starred  the  shadowy  deep, 

The  wingless  boat  paused  where  an  ivory  stair 

Its  fretwork  in  the  crystal  sea  did  steep, 

Encircling  that  vast  Fane's  aerial  heap : 

We  disembarked,  and  through  a  portal  wide 

We  past — whose  roof,  of  moonstone  carved,  did  keep 

A  glimmering  o'er  the  forms  on  every  side, 

Sculptures  like  life  and  thought ;  immovable,  deep-eyed. 

We  came  to  a  vast  hall,  whose  glorious  roof 

Was  diamond,  which  had  drunk  the  lightning's  sheen 

In  darkness,  and  now  poured  it  through  the  woof 

Of  spell-inwoven  clouds,  hung  there  to  screen 

Its  blinding  splendour — through  such  veil  was  seen 

That  work  of  subtlest  power,  divine  and  rare  ; 

Orb  above  orb,  with  starry  shapes  between, 

And  horned  moons,  and  meteors  strange  and  fair, 

On  night-black  columns  poised — one  hollow  hemisphere! 

Ten  thousand  columns  in  that  quivering  light 

Distinct — between  whose  shafts  wound  far  away 

The  long  and  labyrinthine  aisles — more  bright 

With  their  own  radiance  than  the  Heaven  of  Day: 

And,  on  the  jasper  walls  around,  there  lay 

Paintings,  the  poesy  of  mightiest  thought, 

Which  did  the  Spirit's  history  display  ; 

A  tale  of  passionate  change,  divinely  taught, 

Which,  in  their  winged  dance,  unconscious  Genii  wrought. 

Beneath,  there  sate  on  many  a  sapphire  throne 

The  Great,  who  had  departed  from  mankind, 

A  mighty  Senate  ; — some,  whose  white  hair  shone 

Like  mountain  snow,  mild,  beautiful,  and  blind ; 

Some,  female  forms,  whose  gestures  beamed  with  mind  ; 

And  ardent  youths,  and  children  bright  and  fair; 

And  some  had  lyres,  whose  strings  were  interwined 

With  pale  and  clinging  flames,  which  ever  there 

Waked  faint  yet  thrilling  sounds  that  pierced  the  crystal  air. 

One  seat  was  vacant  in  the  midst,  a  throne, 
Reared  on  a  pyramid  like  sculptured  flame, 
Distinct  with  circling  steps  which  rested  on 
Their  own  deep  fire — soon  as  the  Woman  came 
Into  that  hall,  she  shrieked  the  Spirit's  name, 


119 


150  the  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM. 

And  fell ;  and  vanished  slowly  from  the  sight. 
Darkness  rose  from  her  dissolving  frame, 
Which  gathering,  filled  that  dome  of  woven  light, 
Blotting  it's  sphered  stars,  with  supernatural  night. 

Then,  first,  two  glittering  lights  were  seen  to  glide 

In  circles  on  the  amethystine  floor, 

Small  serpent  eyes  trailing  from  side  to  side, 

Like  meteors  on  a  river's  grassy  shore, 

They  round  each  other  rolled,  dilating  more 

And  more — then  rose,  commingling  into  one, 

One  clear  and  mighty  planet  hanging  o'er 

A  cloud  of  deepest  shadow,  which  was  thrown 

Athwart  the  glowing  steps  and  the  crystalline  throne. 

The  cloud  that  rested  on  that  cone  of  flame 
Was  cloven  ;  beneath  the  planet  sate  a  Form, 
Fairer  than  tongue  can  speak  or  thought  may  frame, 
The  radiance  of  whose  limbs  rose-like  and  warm 
Flowed  forth,  and  did  with  softest  light  inform 
The  shadowy  dome,  the  sculptures,  and  the  state 
Of  those  assembled  shapes — with  clinging  charm 
Sinking  upon  their  hearts  and  mine — He  sate 
Majestic,  yet  most  mild — calm,  yet  compassionate. 

Wonder  and  joy  apassing«faintness  threw 

Over  my  brow — a  hand  supported  me, 

Whose  touch  was  magic  strength  :  an  eye  of  blue 

Looked  into  mine,  like  moonlight,  soothingly; 

And  a  voice  said — Thou  must  a  listener  be 

This  day — two  mighty  Spirits  now  return, 

Like  birds  of  calm,  from  the  world's  raging  sea  ; 

They  pour  fresh  light  from  hope's  immortal  urn  ; 

A  tale  of  human  power — despair  not — list  and  learn. 

I  looked,  and  lo  !  one  stood  forth  eloquently : 
His  eyes  were  dark  and  deep,  and  the  clear  brow 
Which  shadowed  them  was  like  the  morning  sky, 
The  cloudless  Heaven  of  Spring,  when,  in  their  flow 
Through  the  bright  air,  the  soft  winds  as  they  blow 
Wake  the  green  world — his  gestures  did  obey 
The  ocular  mind  that  made  his  features  glow, 
And,  where  his  curved  lips  half  open  lay, 
Passion's  divinest  stream  had  made  impetuous  way. 

Beneath  the  darkness  of  his  outspread  hair 
He  stood  thus  beautiful :  but  there  was  One 
Who  sate  beside  him  like  his  shadow  there, 
And  held  his  hand — far  lovlier — she  was  known 
To  be  thus  fair,  by  the  few  lines  alone 


THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM. 

Which  through  her  floating  locks  and  gathered  cloke, 
Glances  of  soul-dissolving  glory,  shone: — 
Vone  else  beheld  her  eyes — in  him  they  woke 
Memories  which  found  a  tongue,  as  thus  he  silence  broke. 


The  star-light  smile  of  children,  the  sweet  looks 

Of  women,  the  fair  breast  from  which  I  fed, 

The  murmur  of  the  unreposing  brooks, 

And  the  green  light  which,  shifting  overhead, 

Some  tangled  bower  of  vines  around  me  shed, 

The  shells  on  the  sea-sand,  and  the  wild  flowers, 

The  lamp-light  through  the  rafters  cheerly  spread, 

And  on  the  twining  flax — in  life's  young  hours 

These  sights  and  sounds  did  nurse  my  spirit's  folded  powers. 

In  Argolis,  beside  the  echoing  sea, 

Such  impulses  within  my  mortal  frame 

Arose,  and  they  were  dear  to  memory, 

Like  tokens  of  the  dead  : — but  others  came 

Soon,  in  another  shape  :  the  wondrous  fame 

Of  the  past  world,  the  vital  words  and  deeds 

Of  minds  whom  neither  time  nor  change  can  tame, 

Traditions  dark  and  old,  whence  evil  creeds 

Start  forth,  and  whose  dim  shade  a  stream  of  poison  feeds. 

I  heard,  as  all  have  heard,  the  various  story 

Of  human  life,  and  wept  unwilling  tears. 

Feeble  historians  of  its  shame  and  glory, 

False  disputants  on  all  its  hopes  and  fears, 

Victims  who  worshipped  ruin, — chroniclers 

Of  daily  scorn,  and  slaves  who  loathed  their  state  ; 

Yet  flattering  power  had  given  its  ministers 

A  throne  of  judgment  in  the  grave  :— 'twas  fate 

That  among  such  as  these  my  youth  should  seek  its  mate. 

The  land  in  which  I  lived,  by  a  fell  bane 

Was  withered  up.     Tyrants  dwelt  side  by  side, 

And  stabled  in  our  homes, — until  the  chain 

Stifled  the  captive's  cry,  and  to  abide 

That  blasting  curse  men  had  no  shame — all  vied 

In  evil,  slave  and  despot;  fear  with  lust 

Strange  fellowship  through  mutual  hate  had  tied, 

Like  two  dark  serpents  tangled  in  the  dust, 

Which  on  the  paths  of  men  their  mingling  poison  thrust. 

Earth,  our  bright  home,  its  mountains  and  its  waters, 
And  the  ethereal  shapes  which  are  suspended 


152  THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM. 

Over  its  green  expanse,  and  those  fair  daughters, 

The  clouds,  of  Sun  and  Ocean,  who  have  blended 

The  colours  of  the  air  since  first  extended 

It  cradlea  the  young  world,  none  wandered  forth 

To  see  or  feel :  a  darkness  had  descended 

On  every  heart:  the  light  which  shows  its  worth, 

Must  among  gentle  thoughts  and  fearless  take  its  birth. 

This  vital  world,  this  home  of  happy  spirits, 

Was  as  a  dungeon  to  my  blasted  kind  : 

All  that  despair  from  murdered  hope  inherits 

They  sought,  and,  in  their  helpless  misery  blind, 

A  deeper  prison  and  heavier  chains  did  find, 

And  stronger  tyrants :— a  dark  gulph  before, 

The  realm  of  a  stern  Ruler,  yawned  ;  behind, 

Terror  and  Time  conflicting  drove,  and  bore 

On  their  tempestuous  flood  the  shrieking  wretch  from  shore. 

Out  of  that  Oceans'  wrecks  had  Guilt  and  Woe 
Framed  a  dark  dwelling  for  their  homeless  thought, 
And,  starting  at  the   ghosts  which  to  and  fro 
Glided  o'er  its  dim  and  gloomy  strand,  had  brought 
The  worship  thence  which  they  each  other  taught. 
WTell  might  men  loathe  their  life,  well  might  they  turn 
Even  to  the  ills  again  from  which  they  sought 
Such  refuge  after  death  ! — well  might  they  learn 
To  gaze  on  this  fair  world  with  hopeless  unconcern ! 

For  they  all  pined  in  bondage  ;  body  and  soul, 

Tyrant  and  slave,  victim  and  torturer,  bent 

Before  one  Power,  to  which  supreme  controul 

Over  their  will  by  their  own  weakness  lent, 

Made  all  its  many  names  omnipotent; 

All  symbols  of  things  evil,  all  divine  ; 

And  hymns  of  blood  or  mockery,  which  rent 

The  air  from  all  its  fanes,  did  interwine 

Imposture's  impious  toils  round  each  discordant  shrine. 

I  heard,  as  all  have  heard,  life's  various  story, 

And  in  no  careless  heart  transcribed  the  tale; 

But,  from  the  sneers  of  men,  who  had  grown  hoary 

In  shame  and  scorn,  from  groans  and  crowds  made  pale 

By  famine,  from  a  mother's  desolate  wail 

O'er  her  polluted  child,  from  innocent  blood 

Poured  on  the  earth,  and  blows  anxious  and  pale 

With  the  heart's  warfare  ;  did  I  gather  food 

To  feed  my  many  thoughts; — a  tameless  multitude. 

I  wandered  through  the  wrecks  of  days  departed 
For  by  the  desolated  shore,  when  even 


THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM.  153 

O'er  the  still  sea  and  jagged  islets  darted" 
The  light  of  moonrise  ;  in  the  northen  Heaven, 
Among'  the  clouds  near  the  horizon  driven, 
The  mountains  lay  beneath  one  planet  pale ; 
Around  me,  broken  tombs  and  columns  riven 
Looked  vast  in  twilight,  and  the  sorrowing  gale 
Waked  in  those  ruins  grey  its  everlasting  wail ; 

I  knew  not  who  had  framed  these  wonders  then, 
Nor  had  I  heard  the  story  of  their  deeds ; 
But  dwellings  of  a  race  of  mightier  men, 
And  monuments  of  less  ungentle  creeds, 
Tell  their  own  tale  to  him  who  wisely  heeds 
The  language  which  they  speak;  and  now,  to  me 
The  moonlight  making  pale  the  blooming  weeds, 
The  bright  stars  shining  in  the  breathless  sea, 
Interpreted  those  scrolls  of  mortal  mystery. 

Such  man  has  been,  and  such  may  yet  become  ! 

Aye,  wiser,  greater,  gentler,  even  than  they 

Who  on  the  fragments  of  yon  shattered  dome 

Have  stamped  the  sign  of  power — I  felt  the  sway 

Of  the  vast  stream  of  ages  bear  away 

My  floating  thoughts — my  heart  beat  loud  and  fast — 

Even  as  a  storm  let  loose  beneath  the  ray 

Of  the  still  moon,  my  spirit  onward  past 

Beneath  truth's  steady  beams  upon  its  tumult  cast. 

It  shall  be  thus  no  more  !  Too  long,  too  long, 

Sons  of  the  glorious  dead  !  have  ye  lain  bound 

In  darkness  and  in  ruin. — Hope  is  strong; 

Justice  and  Truth  their  winged  child  have  found — 

Awake!  arise!  until  the  mighty  sound 

Of  your  career  shall  scatter  in  its  gust 

The  thrones  of  the  oppressor,  and  the  ground 

Hide  the  last  altar's  unregarded  dust, 

Whose  Idol  has  so  long  betrayed  your  impious  trust 

It  must  be  so — I  will  arise  and  waken 

The  multitude,  and,  like  a  sulphurous  hill 

Which  on  a  sudden  from  its  snow  has  shaken 

The  swoon  of  ages,  it  shall  burst,  and  fill 

The  world  with  cleansing  fire  ;  it  must,  it  will — 

It  may  not  be  restrained  ! — and  who  shall  stand 

Amid  the  rocking  earthquake  steadfast  still, 

But  Laon  ?  on  high  Freedom's  desert  land 

A  tower  whose  marble  walls  the  leagued  storms  withstand  I 

One  summer  night,  in  commune  with  the  hope 
Thus  deeply  fed,  amid  those  ruins  grey 


154  THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM. 

I  watched,  beneath  the  dark  sky's  starry  cope ; 

And  ever  from  that  hour  upon  me  lay 

The  burden  of  this  hope,  and  night  or  day, 

Tn  vision  or  in  dream,  clove  to  my  breast: 

Among  mankind,  or  when  gone  far  away 

To  the  lone  shores  and  mountains,  'twas  a  guest 

Which  followed  where   I  fled,  and  wratched  when  I  did  rest. 

These  hopes  found  words  through  which  my  spirit  sought 

To  weave  a  bondage  of  such  sympathy 

As  might  create  some  response  to  the  thought 

Which  ruled  me  now — and,  as  the  vapours  lie 

Bright  in  the  out-spread  mornings's  radiancy, 

So  were  these  thoughts  invested  with  the  light 

Of  language;  and  all  bosoms  made  reply 

On  which  its  lustre  streamed,  whene'er  it  might 

Thro'  darkness  wide  and  deep  those  tranced  spirits  smite. 

Yes,  many  an  eye  with  dizzy  tears  was  dim, 

And  oft  I  thought  to  clasp  my  own  heart's  brother, 

When  I  could  feel  the  listener's  senses  swim. 

And  hear  his  breath  its  own  swift  gaspings  smother, 

Even  as  my  words  evoked  them — and  another, 

And  yet  another,  I  did  fondly  deem, 

Felt  that  we  all  were  sons  of  one  great  mother; 

And  the  told  truth  such  sad  reverse  did  seem, 

As  to  awake  in  grief  from  some  delightful  dream 

Yes,  oft  beside  the  ruined  labyrinth 

Which  skirts  the  hoary  caves  of  the  green  deep, 

Did  Laon  and  his  friend  on  one  grey  plinth, 

Round  whose  worn  base  the  wild  waves  hiss  and  leap, 

Resting  at  eve,  a  lofty  converse  keep  : 

And  that  his  friend  was  false,  may  now  be  said 

Calmly — that  he  like  other  men  could  weep 

Tears  which  are  lies,  and  could  betray  and  spread 

Snares  for  that  guileless  heart  which  for  his  own  had  bled. 

Then,  had  no  great  aim  recompensed  my  sorrow, 
I  must  have  sought  dark  respite  from  its  stress 
In  dreamless  rest,  in  sleep  that  sees  no  morrow — 
For,  to  tread  life's  dismaying  wilderness 
Without  one  smile  to  cheer,  one  voice  to  bless, 
Amid  the  snares  and  scoffs  of  human  kind, 
Is  hard — but  1  betrayed  it  not,  nor  less 
With  love  that  scorned  return  sought  to  unbind 
The  interwoven  clouds  which  make  its  wisdom  blind. 

\\  ith  deathless  minds,  which  leave  where  they  have  past 
A  i  ath  of  light,  my  soul  communion  knew; 


THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM.  us 

Till  from  that  glorious  intercourse,  at  last, 

As  from  a  mine  of  magic  store,  I  drew 

Words  which  were  weapons  ; — round  my  heart  there  grew 

The  adamantine  armour  of  their  power — 

And  from  my  fancy  wings  of  golden  hue 

Sprang  forth — yet  not  alone  from  wisdom's  tower, 

A  minister  of  truth,  these  plumes  young  Laon  bore. 

An  orphan  with  my  parents  lived,  whose  eyes 
Were  loadstars  of  delight,  which  drew  me  home 
When  I  might  wander  forth  :  nor  did  I  prize 
Aught  human  thing  beneath  Heaven's  mighty  dome 
Beyond  this  child:  so  when  sad  hours  were  come, 
And  baffled  hope  like  ice  still  clung  to  me, 
Since  kin  were  cold,  and  friends  had  now  become 
Heartless  and  false,  I  turned    from  all,  to  be, 
Cythna,  the  only  source  of  tears  and  smiles  to  thee. 

What  wert  thou  then  ?  A  child  most  infantine, 

Yet  wandering  far  beyond  that  innocent  age 

In  all  but  its  sweet  looks  and  mien  divine ; 

Even  then,  methought,  with  the  world's  tyrant  rage 

A  patien*  warfare  thy  young  heart  did  wage, 

When  those  soft  eyes  of  scarcely  conscious  thought, 

Some  tale,  or  thine  own  fancies,  would  engage 

To  overflow  with  tears,  or  converse  fraught 

With  passion,  o'er  their  depths  its  fleeting  light  had  wrought. 

She  moved  upon  this  earth  a  shape  of  brightness, 

A  power,  that  from  its  objects  scarcely  drew 

One  impulse  of  her  being —  in  her  lightness 

Most  like  some  radiant  cloud  of  morning  dew, 

Which  wanders  through  the  waste  air's  pathless  blue, 

To  nourish  some  far  desert ;  she  did  ?eem 

Beside  me,  gathering  beauty  as  she  grew, 

Like  the  bright  shade  of  some  immortal  dream  [stream. 

Which   walks,  when  tempest  sleeps,   the  wave  of  life's  dark. 

As  mine  own  shadow  was  this  child  to  me, 

A  second  self,  far  dearer  and  more  fair  ; 

Which  clothed  in  undissolving  radiancy 

All  those  steep  paths  which  languor  and  despair 

Of  human  things  had  made  so  dark  and  bare, 

But  which  I  trod  alone — nor,  till  bereft 

Of  friends,  and  overcome  by  lonely  care, 

Knew  I  what  solace  for  that  loss  was  left, 

Though  by  a  bitter  wound  my  trusting  heart  was  cleft, 

Once  she  was  dear,  now  she  was  all  I  had 
To  love  in  human  life — this  playmate  sweet, 
H* 


156  THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM. 

This  child  of  twelve  years  old — so  she  was  made 

My  sole  associate,  and  her  willing  feet 

Wandered  with  mine  where  earth  and  ocean  meet, 

Beyond  the  aerial  mountains  whose  vast  cells 

The  unreposing  billows  ever  beat, 

Through  forests  wide  and  old,  and  lawny  dells, 

Where  boughs  of  incense  droop  over  the  emerald  well6. 

And  warm  and  light  I  felt  her  clasping  hand 
When  twined  in  mine :  she  followed  where  1  went, 
Through  the  lone  paths  of  our  immortal  land. 
It  had  no  waste,  but  some  memorial  lent 
Which  strung  me  to  my  toil — some  monument 
Vital  with  mind:  then  Cythna  by  my  side, 
Until  the  bright  and  beaming  day  were  spent. 
Would  rest,  with  looks  entreating  to  abide, 
Too  earnest  and  to  sweet  ever  to  be  denied. 

And  soon  I  could  not  have  refused  her — thus 

For  ever,  day  and  night,  we  two  were  ne'er 

Parted,  but  when  brief  sleep  divided  us  : 

And,  when  the  pauses  of  the  lulling  air 

Of  noon  beside  the  sea  had  made  a  lair 

For  her  soothed  senses,  in  my  arms  she  slept, 

And  I  kept  watch  over  her  slumbers  there, 

While,  as  the  shifting  visions  o'er  her  swept, 

Amid  her  innocent  rest  by  turns  she  smil'd  and  wept. 

And,  in  the  murmur  of  her  dreams,  was  heard 

Sometimes  the  name  of  Laon: — suddenly 

She  would  arise,  and,  like  the  secret  bird 

Whom  sunset  wakens,  fill  the  shore  and  sky 

With  her  sweet  accents — a  wild  melody  ! 

Hymns  which  my  soul  had  woven  to  Freedom,  strong 

The  source  of  passion,  whence  they  rose  to  be 

Triumphant  strains,  which,  life  a  spirit's  tongue, 

To  the  enchanted  waves  that  child  of  glory  sung. 

Her  white  arms  lifted  through  the  shadowy  stream 

Of  her  loose  hair — oh,  excellently  great 

Seemed  to  me  then  my  purpose,  the  vast  theme 

Of  those  impassioned  songs,  when  Cythna  sate 

Amid  the  calm  which  rapture  doth  create 

After  its  tumult,  her  heart  vibrating, 

Her  spirit  o'er  the  ocean's  floating  state 

From  her  deep  eyes  far  wandering,  on  the  wing 

Of  visions  that  were  mine,  beyond  its  utmost  spring 

For,  before  Cythna  loved  it,  had  my  song 
Peopled  with  thoughts  the  boundless  universe, 


THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM.  137 

A  mighty  congregation,  which  were  strong 

Where'er  they  trod  the  darkness  to  disperse 

The  cloud  of  that  unutterable  curse 

Which  clings  upon  mankind: — all  things  became 

Slaves  to  my  holy  and  heroic  verse, 

Earth,  sea,  and  sky,  the  planets,  life,  and  fame, 

And  fate,  or  whate'er  else  binds  the  world's  wondrous  frame. 

And  this  beloved  child  thus  felt  the  sway 

Of  my  conceptions,  gathering  like  a  cloud 

The  very  wind  on  which  it  rolls  away : 

Hers  too  were  all  my  thoughts,  ere  yet,  endowed 

With  music  and  with  light,  their  fountains  flowed 

In  poesy ;  and  her  still  and  earnest  face, 

Pallid  with  feelings  which  intensely  glowed 

Within,  was  turned  on  mine  with  speechless  grace, 

Watching  the  hopes  which  there  her  heart  had  learned  to  trace. 

In  me,  communion  with  this  purest  being 

Kindled  intenser  zeal,  and  made  me  wise 

In  knowledge,  which  in  hers  mine  own  mind  seeing, 

Left  in  the  human  world  few  mysteries  : 

How  without  fear  of  evil  or  disguise 

Was  Cythna  ! — what  a  spirit  strong  and  mild, 

Which  death,  or  pain,  or  peril,  could  despise, 

Yetanelt  in  tenderness!  what  genius  wild, 

Yet  mighty,  was  inclosed  within  one  simple  child 

New  lore  was  this — old  age  with  its  grey  hair, 

And  wrinkled  legends  of  unworthy  things, 

And  icy  sneers,  is  nought :  it  cannot  dare 

To  burst  the  chains  which  life  for  ever  flings 

On  the  entangled  soul's  aspiring  wings, 

So  is  it  cold  and  cruel,  and  is  made 

The  careless  slave  of  that  dark  power  which  brings 

Evil,  like  blight  on  man,  who,  still  betrayed, 

Laughs  o'er  the  grave  in  which  his  living  hopes  are  laid. 

Nor  are  the  strong  and  the  severe  to  keep 

The  empire  of  the  world :  thus  Cythna  taught 

Even  in  the  visions  of  her  eloquent  sleep, 

Unconscious  of  the  power  through  which  she  wrought 

The  woof  of  such  intelligible  thought, 

As  from  the  tranquil  strength  which  cradled  lay 

In  her  smile-peopled  rest,  my  spirit  sought 

Why  the  deceiver  and  the  slave  has  sway 

O'er  heralds  so  divine  of  truth's  arising  day. 

Within  that  fairest  form,  the  iemale  mind 
Untainted  by  the  poison  clouds  which  rest 


!58  THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM. 

On  the  dark  world,  a  sacred  home  did  find : 

But  else,  from  the  wide  earth's  maternal  breast, 

Victorious  Evil,  which  had  dispossest 

All  native  power,  had  those  fair  children  torn, 

And  made  them  slaves  to  soothe  his  vile  unrest, 

And  minister  to  lust  its  joys  forlorn, 

Till  they  had  learned  to  breathe  the  atmosphere  of  scorn. 

This  misery  was  but  coldly  felt,  'till  she 

Became  my  only  friend,  who  had  indued 

My  purpose  with  a  wider  sympathy ; 

Thus,  Cythna  mourned  with  me  the  servitude 

In  which  the  half  of  human  kind  were  mewed, 

Victims  of  lust  and  hate,  the  slaves  of  slaves, 

She  mourned  that  grace  and  power  were  thrown  as  food 

To  the  hyena  lust,  who,  among  graves, 

Over  his  loathed  meal,  laughing  in  agony,  raves. 

And  I,  still  gazing  on  that  glorious  child, 

Even  as  these  thoughts  flushed  o'er  her  : — "Cythna  sweet 

Well  with  the  world  art  thou  unreconciled ; 

Never  will  peace  and  human  nature  meet, 

Till  free  and  equal  man  and  woman  greet 

Domestic  peace  ;  and  ere  this  power  can  make 

In  human  hearts  its  calm  and  holy  seat, 

This  slavery  must  be  broken." — As  I  spake, 

From  Cythna's  eyes  a  light  of  exultation  brake. 

She  replied  earnestly : — "  It  shall  be  mine, 
This  task,  mine,  Laon ! — thou  hast  much  to  gain ; 
Nor  wilt  thou  at  poor  Cythna's  pride  repine, 
If  she  should  lead  a  happy  female  train 
To  meet  thee  over  the  rejoicing  plain, 
When  myriads  at  thy  call  shall  throng  around 
The  Golden  City." — Then  the  child  did  strain 
My  arm  upon  her  tremulous  heart,  and  wound 
Her  own  about  my  neck,  till  some  reply  she  found. 

I  smiled,  and  spake  not. — "Wherefore  dost  thou  smile 

At  what  I  say?     Laon,  I  am  not  weak, 

And,  though  my  cheek  might  become  pale  the  while, 

With  thee,  if  thou  desirest,  will  I  seek 

Through  their  array  of  banded  slaves  to  wreak 

Ruin  upon  the  tyrants.     1  had  thought 

It  was  more  hard  to  turn  my  unpractised  cheek 

To  scorn  and  shame,  and  this  beloved  spot 

And  thee,  O  dearest  friend,  to  leave  and  murmur  not" 

"  Whence  came  I  what  I  am  ?     Thou,  Laon,  knowest 
How  a  young  child  should  thus  undaunted  be; 


THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM.  159 

Methinks,  it  is   power  which  thou  bestowest, 

Through  which  I  seek,  by  most  resembling  thee, 

So  to  become  most  good,  and  great,  and  free  ; 

Yet  far  beyond  this  Ocean's  utmost  roar 

In  towers  and  huts  are  many  like  to  me, 

Who,  could  they  see  thine  eyes,  or  feel  such  lore 

As  I  have  learnt  from  them,  like  me  would  fear  no  more. 

"  Think'st  thou  that  I  shall  speak  unskilfully, 
And  none  will  heed  me  ?     I  remember  now, 
How  once  a  slave,  in  tortures  doomed  to  die, 
Was  saved,  because  in  accents  sweet  and  low 
He  sang  a  song  his  Judge  loved  long  ago, 
As  he  was  led  to  death. — All  shall  relent 
Who  hear  me — tears  as  mine  have  flowed,  shall  flow, 
Hearts  beat  as  mine  now  beats,  with  such  intent 
As  renovates  the  world  ; — a  will  omnipotent ! 

"  Yes,  I  will  tread  Pride's  golden  palaces, 

Througn  Penury's  roofless  huts  and  squalid  cells 

Will  I  descend,  where'er  in  abjectness 

Woman  with  some  vile  slave  her  tyrant  dwells, 

There  with  the  music  of  thine  own  sweet  spells 

Will  disenchant  the  captives,  and  will  pour 

For  the  despairing,  from  the  crystal  wells 

Of  thy  deep  spirit,  reason's  mighty  lore, 

And  power  shall  then  abound,  and  hope  arise  once  more. 

"  Can  man  be  free  if  woman  be  a  slave  ? 

Chain  one  who  lives,  and  breathes  this  boundless  air 

To  the  corruption  of  a  closed  grave  ! 

Can  they  whose  mates  are  beasts,  condemned  to  bear 

Scorn,  heavier  far  than  toil  or  anguish,  dare 

To  trample  their  oppressors  ?     In  their  home 

Among  their  babes,  thou  knowest  a  curse  would  wear 

The  shape  of  woman — hoary  crime  would  come 

Behind,  and  fraud  rebuild  religion's  tottering  dome. 

"  I  am  a  child: — I  would  not  yet  depart. 

When  I  go  forth  alone,  bearing  the  lamp 

Aloft  which  thou  has  kindled  in  my  heart, 

Millions  of  slaves  from  many  a  dungeon  damp 

Shall  leap  in  joy,  as  the  benumbing  cramp 

Of  ages  leaves  their  limbs — no  ill  may  harm 

Thy  Cythna  ever— truth  its  radiant  stamp 

Has  fixed,  as  an  invulnerable  charm 

Upon  her  children's  brow,  dark  falsehood  to  disarm. 

"  Wait  yet  awhile  for  the  appointed  day — 
Thou  wilt  depart,  and  I  with  tears  shall  stand 


160  THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM. 

Watching  thy  dim  sail  skirt  the  ocean  grey: 

Amid  the  dwellers  of  this  lonely  land 

I  shall  remain  alone— and  thy  command 

Shall  then  dissolve  the  world's  unquiet  trance, 

And,  multitudinous  as  the  desert  sand 

Borne  on  the  storm,  its  millions  shall  advance, 

Thronging  round  thee,  the  light  of  their  deliverance. 

"Then,  like  the  forests  of  some  pathless  mountain, 

Which  from  remotest  glens  two  warring  winds 

Involve  in  fire,  which  not  the  loosened  fountain 

Of  broadest  floods  might  quench,  shall  all  the  kinds 

Of  evil  catch  from  our  uniting  minds 

The  spark  which  must  consume  them. — Cythna  then 

Will  have  cast  off  the  impotence  that  binds 

Her  childhood  now.  and  through  the  paths  of  men 

Will  pass,  as  the  charmed  bird  that  haunts  the  serpent's  den. 

"  We  part ! — O  Laon,  I  must  dare,  nor  tremble 
To  meet  those  looks  no  more, — Oh,  heavy  stroke ! 
Sweet  brother  of  my  soul ;  can  I  dissemble 
The  agony  of  this  thought?" — As  thus  she  spoke 
The  gathered  sobs  her  quivering  accents  broke, 
And  in  my  arms  she  hid  her  beating  breast. 
I  remained  still  for  tears — sudden  she  woke 
As  one  awakes  from  sleep,  and  wildly  prest 
My  bosom,  her  whole  frame  impetuously  possest. 

"  We  part  to  meet  again — but  yon  blue  waste, 

Yon  desert  wide  and  deep  holds  no  recess 

Within  whose  happy  silence,  thus  embraced 

We  might  survive  all  ills  in  one  caress : 

Nor  doth  the  grave — I  fear  'tis  passionless — 

Nor  yon  cold  vacant  Heaven  : — we  meet  again 

Within  the  minds  of  men,  whose  lips  shall  bless 

Our  memory,  and  whose  hopes  its  light  retain 

When  these  dissevered  bones  are  trodden  in  the  plain." 

I  could  not  speak,  though  she  had  ceased,  for  now 
The  fountains  of  her  feelings,  swift  and  deep. 
Seemed  to  suspend  the  tumult  of  their  flow  ! 
So  we  arose,  and  by  the  star-light  steep 
Went  homeward — neither  did  we  speak  nor  weep, 
But  pale,  were  calm. — With  passion  thus  subdued, 
1  ike  evening  shades  that  o'er  the  mountains  creep 
We  moved  towards  our  home  ;  where,  in  this  jnood, 
Each  from  the  other  sought  refuge  in  solitude. 


THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM.  1Q1 


What  thoughts  had  sway  o'er  Cythna's  lonely  slumber 

That  night,  I  know  not ;  but  my  own  did  seem 

As  if  they  might  ten  thousand  years  outnumber 

Of  waking  life,  the  visions  of  a  dream, 

Which  hid  in  one  dim  gulph  the  troubled  stream 

Of  mind  ;  a  boundless  chaos  wild  and  vast, 

Whose  limits  yet  were  never  memory's  theme: 

And  I  lay  struggling  as  its  whirlwinds  past, 

Sometimes  for  rapture  sick,  sometimes  for  pain  aghast. 

Two  hours,  whose  mighty  circle  did  embrace 
More  time  than  might  make  grey  the  infant  world, 
Rolled  thus,  a  weary  and  tumultuous  space : 
When  the  third  came,  like  mist  on  breezes  curled, 
From  my  dim  sleep,  a  shadow  was  unfurled  : 
Methought,  upon  the  threshold  of  a  cave 
I  sate  with  Cythna  ;  drooping  briny,  pearled 
With  dew  from  the  wild  streamlet's  shattered  wave, 
Hung,  where  we  sate,  to  taste  the  joys  which  Nature  gave. 

We  lived  a  day  as  we  were  wont  to  live, 
But  nature  had  a  robe  of  glory  on, 
And  the  bright  air  o'er  every  shape  did  weave 
Intenser  hues,  so  that  the  herbless  stone, 
The  leafless  bough  among  the  leaves  alone, 
Had  being  clearer  than  its  own  could  be, 
And  Cythna's  pure  and  radiant  self  was  shown 
In  this  strange  vision,  so  divine  to  me, 
That  if  I  loved  before,  now  love  was  agony. 

Morn  fled,  noon  came,  evening,  then  night  descended, 
And  we  prolonged  calm  talk  beneath  the  sphere 
Of  the  calm  moon — when,  suddenly  was  blended 
With  our  repose  a  nameless  sense  of  fear ; 
And  from  the  cave  behind  I  seemed  to  hear 
Sounds  gathering  upwards  ! — accents  incomplete, 
And  stifled  shrieks, — and  now,  more  near  and  near, 
A  tumult  and  a  rush  of  thronging  feet 
The  cavern's  secret  depths  beneath  the  earth  did  heat. 

The  scene  was  changed,  and  away,  away,  away! 

Through  the  air  and  over  the  sea  we  sped, 

And  Cythna  in  my  sheltering  bosom  lay, 

And  the  winds  bore  me, — through  the  darkness  spread 

Around,  the  gaping  earth  then  vomited 

Legions  of  foul  and  ghastly  shapes,  which  hung 


162  THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM. 

Upon  my  flight ;  and  ever  as  we  fled 

They  plucked  at  Cythna — soon  to  me  then  clung 

A  sense  of  actual  things  those  monstrous  dreams  among. 

And  I  lay  struggling  in  the  impotence 

Of  sleep,  while  outward  life  had  burst  its  bound, 

Though,  still  deluded,  strove  the  tortured  sense 

To  its  dire  wanderings  to  adapt  the  sound 

Which  in  the  light  of  morn  was  poured  around 

Our  dwelling — breathless,  pale  and  unaware 

I  rose,  and  all  the  cottage  crowded  found 

With  armed  men,  whose  glittering  swords  were  bare, 

And  whose  degraded  limbs  the  tyrant's  garb  did  wear. 

And  ere  with  rapid  lips  and  gathered  brow 

I  could  demand  the  cause — a  feeble  shriek — 

It  was  a  feeble  shriek,  faint,  far,  and  low, 

Arrested  rne — my  mein  grew  calm  and  meek, 

And,  grasping  a  small  knife,  I  went  to  seek 

That  voice  among  the  crowd —  'twas  Cythna's  cry  ! 

Beneath  most  calm  resolve  did  agony  wreak 

Its  whirlwind  rage: — so  I  past  quietly 

Till  I  beheld,  where  bound,  that  dearest  child  did  lie. 

I  started  to  behold  her,  for  delight 
And  exultation,  and  a  joyance  free, 
Solemn,  serene,  and  lofty,  filled  the  light 
Of  the  calm  smile  with  which  she  looked  on  me : 
So  that  I  feared  some  brainless  ecstasy, 
Wrought  from  that  bitter  woe,  had  wildered  her — 
"  Farewell  !  farewell !"  she  said,  as  I  drew  nigh. 
"  At  first  my  peace  was  marred  by  this  strange  stir, 
Now  I  am  calm  as  truth— its  chosen  minister. 

"  Look  not  so,  Laon — say  farewell  in  hope : 

These  bloody  men  are  but  the  slaves  who  bear 

Their  mistress  to  her  task — it  was  my  scope 

The  slavery  where  they  drag  me  now  to  share, 

And  among  captives  willing  chains  to  wear 

Awhile — the  rest  thou  knowest — return,  dear  friend  ! 

Let  our  first  triumph  trample  the  despair 

Which  would  ensnare  us  now,  for  in  the  end, 

In  victory  or  in  death  our  hopes  and  fears  must  blend." 

These  words  had  fallen  on  my  unheeding  ear, 
Whilst  I  had  watched  the  motions  of  the  crew 
With  seeming  careless  glance  ;  not  many  were 
Around  her,  for  their  comrades  just  withdrew 
To  guard  some  other  victim — so  I  drew 
My  knife,  and  with  one  impulse  suddenly, 


THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM.  I63 

All  unaware,  three  of  their  number  slew, 

And  grasped  a  fourth  by  the  throat,  and  with  loud  cry 

My  countrymen  invoked  to  death  or  liberty  ! 

What  followed  then,  I  know  not — for  a  stroke 

On  my  raised  arm  and  naked  head  came  down, 

Filling-  my  eyes  with  blood — when  I  awoke, 

I  felt  that  they  had  bound  me  in  my  swoon, 

And  up  a  rock  which  overhangs  the  town, 

By  the  steep  path  were  bearing  me  :  below, 

The  plain  was  filled  with  slaughter, — overthrown 

The  vineyards  and  the  harvests,  and  the  glow 

Of  blazing  roofs  shone  far  o'er  the  white  Ocean's  flow. 

Upon  that  rock  a  mighty  column  stood, 
Whose  capital  seemed  sculptured  in  the  sky, 
Which  to  the  wanderers  o'er  the  solitude 
Of  distant  seas,  from  ages  long  gone  by, 
Had  many  a  landmark  ;  o'er  its  height  to  fly 
Scarcely  the  cloud,  the  vulture,  or  the  blast, 
Has  power — and  when  the  shades  of  evening  lie 
On  Earth  and  Ocean,  its  carved  summits  cast 
The  sunken  day-light  far  through  the  aerial  waste. 

They  bore  me  to  a  cavern  in  the  hill 

Beneath  that  column,  and  unbound  me  there : 

And  one  did  strip  me  stark :  and  one  did  fill 

A  vessel  from  the  putrid  pool ;  one  bare 

A  lighted  torch,  and  four  with  friendless  care 

Guided  my  steps  the  cavern  paths  along, 

Then  up  a  steep  and  dark  and  narrow  stair 

We  wound,  until  the  torches'  fiery  tongue 

Amid  the  gushing  day  beamless  and  pallid  hung. 

They  raised  me  to  the  platform  of  the  pile, 

That  column's  dizzy  height : — the  grate  of  brass 

Through  which  they  thrust  me,  open  stood  the  while. 

As  to  its  ponderous  and  suspended  mass, 

With  chains  which  eat  into  the  flesh,  alas  ! 

With  brazen  links,  my  naked  limbs  they  bound : 

The  grate,  as  they  departed  to  repass, 

With  horrid  clangour  fell,  and  the  far  sound 

Of  their  retiring  steps  in  the  dense  gloom  was  drowned. 

The  noon  was  calm  and  bright :— around  that  column 
The  overhanging  sky  and  circling  sea 
Spread  forth  in  silentness  profound  and  solemn 
The  darkness  of  brief  frenzy  cast  on  me, 
So  that  I  knew  not  my  own  misery: 
The  islands  and  the  mountains  in  the  day 
15 


164  THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM. 

Like  clouds  reposed  afar  ;  and  I  could  see 
The  town  among  the  woods  below  that  lay, 
And  the  dark  rocks  which  bound  the  bright  and  glassy  bay. 

It  was  so  calm,  that  scarce  the  feathery  weed 
Sown  by  some  eagle  on  the  topmost  stone 
Swayed  in  the  air:— so  bright  that  noon  did  breed 
No  shadow  in  the  sky  beside  mine  own — 
Mine,  and  the  shadow  of  my  chain  alone. 
Below,  the  smoke  of  roofs  involved  in  flame 
Rested  like  night;  all  else  was  clearly  shown 
In  the  broad  glare,  yet  sound  to  me  none  came, 
But  of  the  living  blood  that  ran  within  my  frame. 

The  peace  of  madness  fled,  and  ah,  too  soon  ! 

A  ship  was  lying  on  the  sunny  main  ; 

Its  sails  were  flagging  in  the  breathless  noon — 

Its  shadow  lay  beyond — that  sight  again 

Waked  with  its  presence,  in  my  tranced  brain 

The  stings  of  a  known  sorrow,  keen  and  cold : 

I  knew  that  ship  bore  Cythna  o'er  the  plain 

Of  waters,  to  her  blighting  slavery  sold, 

And  watched  it  with  such  thoughts  as  must  remain  untold. 

I  watcbed,  until  the  shades  of  evening  wrapt 
Earth  like  an  exhalation — then  the  bark 
Moved,  for  that  calm  was  by  the  sunset  snapt. 
It  moved  a  speck  upon  the  Ocean  dark; 
Soon  the  wan  stars  came  forth,  and  I  could  mark 
Its  path  no  more  ! — I  sought  to  close  mine  eyes, 
But,  like  the  balls,  their  lids  were  stiff  and  stark; 
I  would  have  risen,  but,  ere  that  I  could  rise, 
My  parched  skin  was  split  with  piercing  agonies. 

I  gnawed  my  brazen  chain,  and  sought  to  sever 

Its  adamantine  links,  that  I  might  die. 

O  liberty  !  forgive  the  base  endeavour, 

Forgive  me,  if,  reserved  for  victory, 

The  Champion  of  thy  faith  e'er  sought  to  fly. — 

That  starry  night,  with  its  clear  silence,  sent 

Tameless  resolve  which  laughed  at  misery 

Into  my  soul — linked  remembrance  lent 

To  that  such  power,  to  me  such  a  severe  content. 

To  breathe,  to  be,  to  hope,  or  to  despair 
And  die,  I  questioned  not ;  nor,  though  the  Sun 
Its  shafts  of  agony  kindling  through  the  air 
Moved  over  me,  nor  though  in  evening  dun, 
Or  when  the  stars  their  visible  courses  run, 
Or  morning,  the  wide  universe  was  spread 


THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM.  i65 

In  dreary  calmness  round  me,  did  I  shun 

Its  presence,  nor  seek  refuge  with  the  dead 

From  one  faint  hope  whose  flower  a  dropping  poison  shed. 

Two  days  thus  past — I  neither  raved  nor  died — 

Thirst  raged  within  me,  like  a  scorpion's  nest 

Built  in  mine  entrails  ;  I  had  spurned  aside 

The  water-vessel,  while  despair  possest 

My  thoughts,  and  now  no  drop  remained  !     The  uprest 

Of  the  third  sun  brought  hunger — but  the  crust, 

Which,  had  been  left,  was  to  my  craving  breast 

Fuel,  not  food.     I  chewed  the  bitter  dust, 

And  bit  my  bloodless  arm,  and  licked  the  brazen  rust. 

My  brain  began  to  fail  when  the  fourth  morn 
Burst  o'er  the  golden  isles — a  fearful  sleep, 
Which,  through  the  caverns  dreary  and  forlorn 
Of  the  riven  soul,  sent  its  foul  dreams  to  sweep 
With  whirlwind  swiftness — a  fall  far  and  deep, — 
A  gulph,  a  void,  a  sense  of  senselessness — 
These  things  dwelt  in  me,  even  as  shadows  keep 
Their  watch  in  some  dim  charnel's  loneliness, 
A  shoreless  sea,  a  sky  sunless  and  planetless  ! 

The  forms  which  peopled  this  terrific  trance 
I  well  remember — like  a  quire  of  devils, 
Around  me  they  involved  a  giddy  dance ; 
Legions  seemed  gathering  from  the  misty  levels 
Of  Ocean,  to  supply  those  ceaseless  revels, 
Foul  ceaseless  shadows  : — thought  could  not  divide 
The  actual  world  from  these  entangling  evils, 
Which  so  bemocked  themselves,  that  I  descried 
All  shapes  like  mine  own  self,  hideously  multiplied. 

The  sense  of  day  and  night,  of  false  and  true, 

Was  dead  within  me.     Yet  two  visions  burst 

That  darkness — one,  as  since  that  hour  I  knew, 

Was  not  a  phantom  of  the  realms  accurst, 

Wheie  then  my  spirit  dwelt — but  of  the  first 

I  know  not  yet,  was  it  a  dream  or  no. 

But  both,  though  not  distincter,  were  immersed 

In  hues  which,  when  through  memory's  waste  they  flow 

Make  their  divided  streams  more  bright  and  rapid  now 

Methought  that  gate  was  lifted,  and  the  seven, 
Who  brought  me  thither,  four  stiff  corpses  bare, 
And  from  the  frieze  to  the  four  winds  of  Heaven 
Hung  them  on  high  by  the  entangled  hair: 
Swarthy  were  three — the  fourth  was  very  fair; 
As  they  retired,  the  golden  moon  upsprung, 


166  THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM. 

And  eagerly,  out  in  the  giddy  air, 

Leaning  that  I  might  eat,  I  stretched  and  clung 

Over  the  shapeless  depth  in  which  those  corpses  hung. 

A  woman's  shape,  now  lank  and  cold  and  blue, 

The  dwelling  of  the  many-coloured  worm 

Hung  there,  the  white  and  hollow  cheek  I  drew 

To  my  dry  lips — %hat  radiance  did  inform 

These  horny  eyes  ?  whose  was  that  withered  form  ? 

Alas,  alas!  it  seemed  that  Cythna's  ghost 

Laughed  in  those  looks,  and  that  the  flesh  was  warm 

Within  my  teeth  ! — a  whirlwind  keen  as  frost 

Then  in  its  sinking  gulphs  my  sickening  spirit  tost. 

Then  seemed  it  that  a  tameless  hurricane 

Arose,  and  bore  me  in  its  dark  career 

Beyond  the  sun,  beyond  the  stars  that  wane 

On  the  verge  of  formless  space — it  languished  there, 

And,  dying,  left  a  silence  lone  and  drear, . 

More  horrible  than  famine : — in  the  deep 

The  shape  of  an  old  man  did  then  appear, 

Stately  and  beautiful ;  that  dreadful  sleep 

His  heavenly  smiles  dispersed,  and  I  could  wake  and  weep. 

And,  when  the  blinding  tears  had  fallen,  I  saw 
That  column,  and  those  corpses,  and  the  moon, 
And  felt  the  poisonous  tooth  of  hunger  gnaw 
My  vitals,  I  rejoiced,  as  if  the  boon 
Of  senseless  death  would  be  accorded  soon ; — 
When  from  that  stony  gloom  a  voice  arose, 
Solemn  and  sweet  as  when  low  winds  attune 
The  midnight  pines ;   the  grate  did  then  unclose, 
And  on  that  reverend  form  the  moonlight  did  repose. 

He  struck  my  chains,  and  gently  spake  and  smiled : 

As  they  were  loosened  by  that  Hermit  old, 

Mine  eyes  were  of  their  madness  half  beguiled, 

To  answer  those  kind  looks. — He  did  unfold 

His  giant  arms  around  me,  to  uphold 

My  wretched  frame ;  my  scorched  limbs  he  wound 

In  linen  moist  and  balmy,  and  as  cold 

As  dew  to  drooping  leaves : — the  chain,  with  sound    [bound 

Like  earthquake,  through  the  chasm  of  that  steep  stair  did 

As,  lifting  me,  it  fell!— What  next  I  heard, 

Were  billows  leaping  on  the  harbour  bar, 

And  the  shrill  seawind,  whose  breathe  idly  stirred 

My  hair  ; — I  looked  abroad,  and  saw  a  star 

Shining  beside  a  sail,  and  distant  far 

That  mountain  and  its  column,  the  known  mark 


THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM. 

Of  those  who  in  the  wide  deep  wandering  are, 

So  that  I  feared  some  Spirit,  fell  and  dark, 

In  trance  had  lain  me  thus  within  a  fiendish  bark. 

For  now,  indeed,  over  the  salt  sea  billow 
I  sailed :  yet  dared  not  look  upon  the  shape 
Of  him  who  ruled  the  helm,  although  the  pillow 
For  my  light  head  was  hollowed  in  his  lap, 
And  my  bare  limbs  his  mantle  did  enwrap, 
Fearing  it  was  a  fiend :  at  last,  he  bent 
O'er  me  his  aged  face  ;  as  if  to  snap 
Those  dreadful  thoughts  the  gentle  grandsire  bent, 
And  to  my  inmost  soul  his  soothing  looks  he  sent 

A  soft  and  healing  potion  to  my  lips 

At  intervals  he  raised — now  looked  on  high, 

To  mark  if  yet  the  starry  giant  dips 

His  zone  in  the  dim  sea — now  cheeringly, 

Though  he  said  little,  did  he  speak  to  me. 

"  It  is  a  friend  beside  thee — take  good  cheer, 

Poor  victim,  thou  art  now  at  liberty!" 

I  joyed  as  those  a  human  tone  to  hear, 

Who  in  cells  deep  and  lone  have  languished  many  a  year* 

A  dim  and  feeble  joy,  whose  glimpses  oft 
Were  quenched  in  a  relapse  of  wildering  dreams 
Yet  still  methought  we  sailed,  until  aloft 
The  stars  of  night  grew  pallid,  and  the  beams 
Of  morn  descended  on  the  ocean  streams, 
And  still  that  aged  man,  so  grand  and  mild, 
Tended  me,  even  as  some  sick  mother  seems 
To  hang  in  hope  over  a  dying  child, 
Till  in  the  azure  East  darkness  again  was  piled. 

And  then  the  night-wind,  steaming  from  the  shore, 

Sent  odours  dying  sweet  across  the  sea, 

And  the  swift  boat  the  little  waves  which  bore, 

Were  cut  by  its  keen  keel,  though  slantingly ; 

Soon  I  could  hear  the  leaves  sigh,  and  could  see 

The  myrtle  blossoms  starring  the  dim  grove, 

As  past  the  pebbly  beach  the  boat  did  flee 

On  sidelong  wing  into  a  silent  cove, 

Where  ebon  pines  a  shade  under  the  starlight  wove. 


The  old  man  took  the  oars,  and  soon  the  bark 
Smote  on  the  beach  beside  a  tower  of  stone; 
It  was  a  crumbling  heap  whose  portal  dark 
15* 


168  THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM. 

iVith  blooming  ivy  trails  was  overgrown  ; 

Upon  whose  floor  the  spangling  sands  were  strown, 

And  rarest  sea-shells,  which  the  eternal  flood, 

Slave  to  the  mother  of  the  months,  had  thrown 

Within  the  walls  of  that  grey  tower,  which  stood 

A  changeling  of  man's  art,  nursed  amid  Nature's  brood. 

When  the  old  man  his  boat  had  anchored, 
He  wound  me  in  his  arms  with  tender  care, 
And  \ery  few  but  kindly  words  he  said, 
And  bore  me  through  the  tower  adown  a  stair, 
'W  hose  smooth  descent  some  ceaseless  step  to  wear 
For  many  a  year  had  fallen. — We  came  at  last 
To  a  small  chamber,  which  with  mosses  rare 
Was  tapestried,  where  me  his  soft  hands  placed 
Upon  a  couch  of  grass  and  oak-leaves  interlaced. 

The  moon  was  darting  through  the  lattices 

Its  yellow  light,  warm  as  the  beams  of  day — 

So  warm,  that  to  admit  the  dewy  breeze, 

The  old  man  opened  them  ;  the  moonlight  lay 

Upon  a  lake  whose  waters  wove  their  play 

Even  to  the  threshold  of  that  lonely  home  : 

Within  was  seen,  in  the  dim  wavering  ray, 

The  antique  sculptured  roof,  and  many  a  tome 

Whose  lore  had  made  that  sage  all  that  he  had  become. 

The  rock-built  barrier  of  the  sea  was  past, — 

And  I  was  on  the  margin  of  a  lake, 

A  lonely  lake,  amid  the  forests  vast 

And  snowy  mountains ; — did  my  spirit  wake 

From  sleep,  as  many-coloured  as  the  snake 

That  girls  eternity  ?  in  life  and  truth, 

Might  not  my  heart  its  cravings  ever  slake  ? 

Was  Cythna  then  a  dream,  and  all  my  youth, 

And  all  its  hopes  and  fears,  and  all  its  joy  and  ruth  ? 

Thus  madness  came  again, — a  milder  madness, 
Which  darkened  nought  but  time's  unquiet  flow 
With  supernatural  shades  of  clinging  sadness; 
That  gentle  Hermit,  in  my  helpless  woe, 
By  my  sick  couch  was  busy  to  and  fro, 
Like  a  strong  spirit  ministrant  of  good  : 
When  I  was  healed,  he  led  me  forth  to  show 
The  wonders  of  his  sylvan  solitude, 
And  we  together  sate  by  that  isle-fretted  flood. 

He  knew  his  soothing  words  to  weave  with  skill 
From  all  my  madness  told:  like  mine  own  heart, 
Of  Cythna  would  he  question  me,  until 


THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM. 

That  thrilling  name  had  ceased  to  make  me  start, 
From  his  familiar  lips — it  was  not  art, 
Of  wisdom  and  of  justice  when  he  spoke — 
When  mid  soft  looks  of  pity,  there  would  dart 
A  glance  as  keen  as  is  the  lightning's  stroke 
When  it  doth  rive  the  knots  of  some  ancestral  oak. 

Thus  slowly  from  my  brain  the  darkness  rolled, 

My  thoughts  their  due  array  did  re-assume 

Through  the  enchantments  of  that  Hermit  old ; 

Then  I  bethought  me  of  the  glorious  doom 

Of  those  who  sternly  struggle  to  relume 

The  lamp  of  Hope  o'er  man's  bewildered  lot, 

And,  sitting  by  the  waters,  in  the  gloom 

Of  eve,  to  that  friend's  heart  I  told  my  thought — 

That  heart  wnich  had  grown  old,  but  had  corrupted  not 

That  hoary  man  had  spent  his  livelong  age 
In  converse  with  the  dead,  who  leave  the  stamp 
Of  ever-burning  thoughts  on  many  a  page, 
When  they  are  gone  into  the  senseless  damp 
Of  graves  ! — his  spirit  thus  became  a  lamp 
Of  splendour,  like  to  those  on  which  it  fed. 
Through  peopled  haunts,  the  city,  and  the  camp, 
Deep  thirst  for  knowledge  had  his  footsteps  led, 
And  all  the  ways  of  men  among  mankind  he  read. 

But  custom  maketh  blind  and  obdurate 

The  loftiest  hearts  : — he  had  beheld  the  woe 

In  which  mankind  was  bound,  but  deemed  that  fate 

Which  made  them  abject  would  preserve  them  so; 

And  in  such  faith,  some  steadfast  joy  to  know, 

He  sought  this  cell :  but,  when  fame  went  abroad 

That  one  in  Argolis  did  undergo 

Torture  for  liberty,  and  that  the  crowd 

High  truths  from  gifted  lips  had  heard  and  understood, 

And  that  the  multitude  was  gathering  wide, 
His  spirit  leaped  within  his  aged  frame  ; 
In  lonely  peace  he  could  no  more  abide, 
But  to  the  land  on  which  the  victor's  flame 
Had  fed,  my  native  land,  the  Hermit  came: 
Each  heart  was  there  a  shield,  and  every  tongue 
Was  as  a  sword  of  truth— young  Laon's  name 
Rallied  their  secret  hopes,  through  tyrants  sung 
Hymns  of  triumphant  joy  our  scattered  tribes  among. 

He  came  to  the  lone  column  on  the  rock, 
And  with  his  sweet  and  mighty  eloquence 
The  hearts  of  those  who  watched  it  did  unlock, 


170  THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM. 

And  made  them  melt  in  tears  of  penitence. 

They  gave  him  entrance  free  to  bear  me  thence. 

"  Since  this,"  the  old  man  said,  "  seven  years  are  spent, 

While  slowly  truth  on  thy  benighted  sense 

Has  crept ;  the  hope  which  wildered  it  has  lent, 

Meanwhile,  to  me  the  power  of  a  sublime  intent. 

"  Yes,  from  the  records  of  my  youthful  state, 
And  from  the  lore  of  bards  and  sages  old, 
From  whatsoe'er  my  wakened  thoughts  create 
Out  of  the  hopes  of  thine  aspirings  bold, 
Have  I  collected  language  to  untold 
Truth  to  my  countrymen;  from  shore  to  shore 
Doctrines  of  human  power  my  words  have  told; 
They  have  been  heard,  and  men  aspire  to  more 
Than  they  have  ever  gained  or  ever  lost  of  yore. 

"  In  secret  chambers  parents  read,  and  weep, 
My  writings  to  their  babes,  no  longer  blind; 
And  young  men  gather  when  their  tyrants  sleep, 
And  vows  of  faith  each  to  the  other  bind  ; 
And  marriageable  maidens,  who  have  pined 
With  love,  till  life  seemed  melting  through  their  look, 
A  warmer  zeal,  a  nobler  hope,  now  find  ; 
And  every  bosom  thus  is  rapt  and  shook, 
ike  autumn,  myriad  leaves  in  one  swoln  mountain  brook. 

'•  The  tyrants  of  the  Golden  City  tremble 

At  voices  which  are  heard  about  the  streets  ; 

The  ministers  of  fraud  can  scarce  dissemble 

The  lies  of  their  own  heart ;  but  when  one  meets 

Another  at  the  shrine,  he  inly  weets, 

Though  he  says  nothing,  that  the  truth  is  known; 

Murderers  are  pale  upon  the  judgment-seats, 

And  gold  grows  vile  even  to  the  wealthy  crone, 

And  laughter  fills  the  Fane,  and  curses  shake  the  Throne. 

"  Kind  thoughts,  and  mighty  hopes,  and  gentle  deeds 

Abound,  for  fearless  love,  and  the  pure  law 

Of  mild  equality  and  peace  succeeds 

To  faiths  which  long  have  held  the  world  in  awe, 

Bloody,  and  false,  and  cold  : — as  whirlpools  draw 

All  wrecks  of  Ocean  to  their  chasm,  the  sway 

Of  thy  strong  genius,  Laon,  which  foresaw 

This  hope,  compels  all  spirits  to  obey, 

Which  round  thy  secret  strength  now  throng  in  wide  array. 

"  For  I  have  been  thy  passive  instrument" — 
(As  thus  the  old  man  spake,  his  countenance 
Gleamed  on  me  like  a  spirit's) — "thou  hast  lent 


THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM.  171 

To  me,  to  all,  the  power  to  advance 

Towards  this  unforeseen  deliverance 

From  our  ancestral  chains — -ay,  thou  didst  rear 

That  lamp  of  hope  on  high,  which  time,  nor  chance, 

Nor  change   may  not  extinguish,  and  my  share 

Of  good  was  o'er  the  world  its  gathered  beams  to  bear. 

"  But  I,  alas !  am  both  unknown  and  old, 

And,  though  the  woof  of  wisdom  I  know  well 

To  die  in  hues  of  language,  I  am  cold 

In  seeming,  and  the  hopes  which  inly  dwell 

My  manners  note  that  I  did  long  repel ; 

But  Laon's  name  to  the  tumultuous  throng 

Were  like  the  star  whose  beams  the  waves  compel 

And  tempests,  and  his  soul-subduing  tongue 

Were  as  a  lance  to  quell  the  mailed  crest  of  wrong. 

"  Perchance  blood  need  not  flow,  if  thou  at  length 
Would'st  rise:  perchance  the  very  slaves  would  spare 
Their  brethren  and  themselves;  great  is  the  strength 
Of  words — for  lately  did  a  maiden  fair, 
Who  from  her  childhood  has  been  taught  to  bear 
The  tyrant's  heaviest  yoke,  arise,  and  make 
Her  sex  the  law  of  truth  and  freedom  hear; 
And  with  these  quiet  words — '  for  thine  own  sake 
I  prithee  spare  me,' — did  with  ruth  so  take 

"  All  hearts,  that  even  the  torturer,  who  had  bound 

Her  meek  calm  frame,  ere  it  was  yet  impaled, 

Loosened  her  weeping  then ;  nor  could  be  found1 

One  human  hand  to  harm  her — unassailed 

Therefore  she  walks  through  the  great  City,  veiled 

In  virtue's  adamantine  eloquence, 

'Gainst  scorn,  and  death,  and  pain,  thus  trebly  mailed, 

And,  blending  in  the  smiles  of  that  defence 

The  Serpent  and  the  Dove,  Wisdom  and  Innocence. 

"  The  wild-eyed  women  throng  around  her  path  : 

From  their  luxurious  dungeons,  from  the  dust 

Of  meaner  thralls,  from  the  oppressor's  wrath, 

Or  the  caresses  of  his  sated  lust, 

They  congregate: — in  her  they  put  their  trust; 

The  tyrants  send  their  armed  slaves  to  quell 

Her  power : — 'they,  even  like  a  thunder  gust 

Caught  by  some  forest,  bend  beneath  the  spell 

Of  that  young  maiden's  speech,  and  to  their  chiefs  rebeL 

"  Thus  she  doth  equal  laws  and  justice  teach 
To  woman,  outraged  and  polluted  long; 
Gathering  the  sweetest  fruit  in  human  reach 


172  THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM. 

For  those  fair  hands  now  free,  while  armed  wrong 
Trembles  before  her  look,  though  it  be  strong  ; 
Thousands  thus  dwell  beside  her,  virgins  bright, 
And  matrons  with  their  babes,  a  stately  throng  ! 
Lovers  renew  the  vows  which  they  did  plight 
In  early  faith,  and  hearts  long  parted  now  unite. 

"  And  homeless  orphans  find  a  home  near  her, 

And  those  poor  victims  of  the  proud,  no  less, 

Fair  wrecks,  on  whom  the  smiling  world  with  stir, 

Thrusts  the  redemption  of  its  wickedness : — 

In  squalid  huts,  and  in  its  palaces 

Sits  Lust  alone,  while  o'er  the  land  is  borne 

Her  voice,  whose  awful  sweetness  doth  repress 

All  evil,  and  her  foes  relenting  turn, 

And  cast  the  vote  of  love  in  hope's  abandoned  urn. 

"  So  in  the  populous  City,  a  young  maiden 

Has  baffled  havoc  of  the  prey  which  he 

Marks  as  his  own,  whene'er  with  chains  o'erladen 

Men  make  them  arms  to  hurl  down  tyranny, 

False  arbiter  between  the  bound  and  free  ; 

And  o'er  the  land,  in  hamlets  and  in  towns, 

The  multitudes  collect  tumultuously, 

And  throng  in  arms  ;  but  tyranny  disowns 

Their  claim,  and  gathers  strength  around  its  trembling  thrones. 

"  Blood  soon,  although  unwillingly,  to  shed 
The  free  cannot  forbear — the  Queen  of  Slaves, 
The  hood-winked  Angel  of  the  blind  and  dead, 
Custom,  with  iron  mace  points  to  the  graves 
Where  her  own  standard  desolately  waves 
Over  the  dust  of  Prophets  and  of  kings. 
Many  yet  stand  in  her  array — 'she  paves 
Her  path  with  human  hearts,'  and  o'er  it  flings 
The  wildering  gloom  of  her  immeasurable  wings. 

"  There  is  a  plain  beneath  the  City's  wall, 
Bounded  by  misty  mountains,  wide  and  vast ; 
Millions  there  lift  at  Freedom's  thrilling  call 
Ten  thousand  standards  wide  ;  they  load  the  blast 
Which  bears  one  sound  of  many  voices  past, 
And  startles  on  his  throne  their  sceptered  foe : 
He  sits  amid  his  idle  pomp  aghast, 
And  that  his  power  hath  past  away,  doth  know — 
Why  pause  the  victor  swords  to  seal  his  overthrow  ? 

"  The  tyrant's  guards  resistance  yet  maintain  : 
Fearless,  and  fierce,  and  hard  as  beasts  of  blood ; 
They  stand  a  speck  amid  the  peopled  plain ; 


1 


THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM.  173 

Carnage  and  ruin  have  been  made  their  food 

From  infancy — ill  has  become  their  good, 

And  for  its  hateful  sake  their  will  has  wove 

The  chains  which  eat  their  hearts — the  multitude 

Surrounding-  them,  with  words  of  human  love, 

Seek  from  their  own  decay  their  stubborn  minds  to  move. 

"  Over  the  land  is  felt  a  sudden  pause, 

As  night  and  day  those  ruthless  bands  around 

The  watch  of  love  is  kept : — a  trance  which  awes 

The  thoughts  of  men  with  hope — as  when  the  sound 

Of  whirlwind,  whose  fierce  blasts  the  waves  and  clouds  confound. 

Dies  suddenly,  the  mariner  in  fear 

Feels  silence  sink  upon  his  heart — thus  bound, 

The  conqueror's  pause,  and  oh  !  may  freemen  ne'er 

Clasp  the  relentless  knees  of  Oread,  the  murderer! 

"  If  blood  be  shed,  'tis  but  a  change  and  choice 

Of  bonds, — from  slavery  to  cowardice 

A  wretched  fall !— uplift  thy  charmed  voice, 

Pour  on  those  evil  men  the  love  that  lies 

Hovering  within  those  spirit-soothing  eyes — 

Arise,  my  friend,  farewell !" — As  thus  he  spake, 

From  the  green  earth  lightly  I  did  arise 

As  one  out  of  dim  dreams  that  doth  awake, 

And  looked  upon  the  depth  of  that  reposing  lake. 

I  saw  my  countenance  reflected  there  ; — 

And  then  my  youth  fell  on  me  like  a  wind 

Descending  on  still  waters — my  thin  hair 

Was  prematurely  grey,  my  face  was  lined 

With  channels,  such  as  suffering  leaves  behind, 

Not  age ;  my  brow  was  pale,  but  in  my  cheek 

And  lips  a  flush  of  gnawing  fire  did  find 

Their  food  and  dwelling;   though  mine  eyes  might  speak 

A  subtle  mind  and  strong  within  a  frame  thus  weak  ; 

And,  though  their  lustre  now  was  spent  and  faded, 

Yet  in  my  hollow  looks  and  withered  mien 

The  likeness  of  a  shape  for  which  was  braided 

The  brightest  woof  of  genius,  still  was  seen — 

One  who,  methought,  had  gone  from  the  world's  scene, 

And  left  it  vacant — 'twas  her  lover's  face — 

It  might  resemble  her — it  once  had  been 

The  mirror  of  her  thoughts,  and  still  the  grace 

Which  her  mind's  shadow  cast,  left  there  a  lingering  trace. 

What  then  was  I  ?  She  slumbered  with  the  dead. 
Glory,  and  joy,  and  peace  had  come  and  gone. 
Doth  the  cloud  perish,  when  the  beams  are  fled 


174  THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM. 

Which  steeped  its  sk'rts  in  gel  J  1  or  dark,,  ana  lone, 
Doth  it  not  through  the  paths  of  night  unknown, 
On  outspread  wings  of  its  own  wind  upborne 
Pour  rain  upon  the  earth  1  the  stars  are  shown, 
When  the  cold  moon  sharpens  her  silver  horn 
Under  the  sea,  and  make  the  wide  night  not  forlorn. 

Strengthened  in  heart,  vet  sad,  that  aged  man 

I  left,  with  interchange  of  looks  and  tears, 

And  lingering  speech,  and  to  the  camp  began 

My  way.     O'er  many  a  mountain  chain  which  rears 

Its  hundred  crests  aloft,  my  spirit  bears 

My  frame  ;  o'er  many  a  dale  and  many  a  moor, 

And  gaily  now  me  seems  serene  earth  wears 

The  bloomy  spring's  star-bright  investiture, 

A  vision  which  ought  sad  from  sadness  might  allure. 

My  pow'ers  revived  within  me,  and  I  went 

As  one  whom  winds  waft  o'er  the  bending  grass,  v 

Through  many  a  vale  of  that  broad  continent. 

At  night  when  I  reposed,  fair  dreams  did  pass 

Before  my  pillow ; — my  own  Cythna  was 

Not  like  a  child  of  death,  among  them  ever; 

When  I  arose  from  rest,  a  woeful  mass 

That  gentlest  sleep  seemed  from  my  life  to  sever, 

As  if  the  light  of  youth  were  not  withdrawn  for  ever. 

Aye,  as  I  went,  that  maiden,  who  had  reared 

The  torch  of  Truth  afar,  of  whose  high  deeds 

The  Hermit  in  his  pilgrimage  had  heard, 

Haunted  my  thoughts. — Ah,  Hope  its  sickness  feeds 

With  whatsoe'er  it  finds,  or  flowers  or  weeds  ! 

Could  she  be  Cythna? — Was  that  corpse  a  shade 

Such  as  self-torturing  thought  from  madness  breeds  ? 

Why  was  this  hope  not  torture  ?  yet  it  made 

A  light  around  my  steps  which  would  not  ever  fade. 


Over  the  utmost  hill  at  length  I  sped, 

A  snowy  steep  : — the  moon  was  hanging  low 

Over  the  Asian  mountains,  and  outspread 

The  plain,  the  City,  and  the  Camp,  below, 

Skirted  the  midnight  Ocean's  glimmering  flow, 

The  City's  moon-lit  spires  and  myriad  lamps, 

Like  stars  in  a  sublunar  sky  did  glow, 

And  fires  blazed  far  amid  the  scattered  camps.  [stamps. 

Like  springs  of  flame,  which  burst  where'er  swift  Earthquake 


THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM.  175 

All  slept  but  those  in  watchful  arms  who  stood, 

And  those  who  sate  tending  the  beacon's  light, 

And  the  few  sounds  from  that  vast  multitude 

Wade  silence  more  profound — Oh,  what  a  might 

Of  human  thought  was  cradled  in  that  night ! 

How  many  hearts,  impenetrably  veiled, 

Beat  underneath  its  shade !  what  secret  fight, 

Evil  and  good,  in  woven  passions  mailed, 

Waged  through  that  silent  throng — a  war  that  never  failed  I 

And  now  the  Power  of  Good  held  victory, 

So,  through  the  labyrinth  of  many  a  tent, 

Among  the  silent  millions  who  did  lie 

In  innocent  sleep,  exultingly  I  went; 

The  moon  had  left  Heaven  desert  now,  but  lent 

From  eastern  morn  the  first  faint  lustre  showed 

An  armed  youth — over  his  spear  he  bent 

His  downward  face. — "A  friend!"  I  cried  aloud, 

And  quickly  common  hopes  made  freemen  understood. 

I  sate  beside  him  while  the  morning  beam 

Crept  slowly  over  Heaven,  and  talked  with  him 

Of  those  immortal  hopes,  a  glorious  theme  ! 

Which  led  us  forth,  until  the  stars  grew  dim  : 

And  all  the  while,  methought,  his  voice  did  swim, 

As  if  it  drowned  in  remembrance  were 

Of  thoughts  which  make  the  moist  eyes  overbrim  : 

At  last,  when  daylight  'gan  to  fill  the  air, 

He  looked  on  me,  and  cried  in  wonder — "  Thou  art  here  1" 

Then,  suddenly,  I  knew  it  was  the  youth 

In  whom  its  earliest  hopes  my  spirit  found ; 

But  envious  tongues  had  stained  his  spotless  truth, 

And  thoughtless  pride  his  love  in  silence  bound, 

And  shame  and  sorrow  mine  in  toils  had  wound, 

Whilst  he  was  innocent,  and  I  deluded. 

The  truth  now  came  upon  me ;  on  the  ground  ' 

Tears  of  repenting  joy,  which  fast  intruded, 

Fell  fast,  and  o'er  its  peace  our  mingling  spirits  brooded. 

Thus,  while  with  rapid  lips  and  earnest  eyes 
We  talked,  a  sound  of  sweeping  conflict  spread, 
As  from  the  earth  did  suddenly  arise  ; 
From  every  tent,  roused  by  that  clamour  dread, 
Our  bands  outsprung  and  seized  their  arms — we  sped 
Towards  the  sound :  our  tribes  were  gathering  far> 
Those  sanguine  slaves  amid  ten  thousand  dead 
Stabbed  in  their  sleep,  trampled  in  treacherous  war, 
The  gentle  hearts  whose  power  their  lives  had  sou<>  lit  to  spare. 
16 


176  THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM. 

Like  rabid  snakes,  that  sting  some  gentle  child 
Who  brings  them  food,  when  winter  tales  and  fair 
Allures  them  forth  with  its  cold  smiles,  so  wild 
They  rage  among  the  camp ; — they  overbear 
The  patriot  hosts — confusion,  then  despair 
Descends  like  night — when  "  Laon  !"  one  did  cry: 
Like  a  bright  ghost  from  Heaven  that  shout  did  scare 
The  slaves,  and,  widening  through  the  vaulted  sky, 
Seemed  sent  from  Earth  to  Heaven  in  sign  of  victory. 

In  sudden  panic  those  false  murderers  fled, 

Like  insect  tribes  before  the  northern  gale: 

But,  swifter  still,  our  hosts  encompassed 

Their  shattered  ranks,  and  in  a  craggy  vale, 

Where  even  their  fierce  despair  might  nought  avail, 

Hemmed  them  around ! — and  then  revenge  and  fear 

Made  the  high  virtue  of  the  patriots  fail : 

One  pointed  on  his  foe  the  mortal  spear — 

I  rushed  before  its  point,  and  cried,  "  Forbear,  forbear  ! 


The  spear  transfixed  my  arm  that  was  uplifted 

In  swift  expostulation,  and  the  blood 

Gushed  round  its  point:   I  smiled,  and — "Oh  !  thou  gifted 

With  eloquence  which  shall  not  be  withstood, 

Flow  thus  !"■ — I  cried  in  joy,  "  thou  vital  flood, 

Until  my  heart  be  dry,  ere  thus  the  cause 

For  which  thou  wert  aught  worthy  be  subdued — 

Ah,  ye  are  pale, — ye  weep,— your  passions  pause, — 

'Tis  well !  ye  feel  the  truth  of  love's  benignant  laws. 

"  Soldiers,  our  brethren  and  our  friends  are  slain. 

Ye  murdered  them,  I  think,  as  they  did  sleep ! 

Alas,  what  have  ye  done?     The  slightest  pain 

Which  ye  might  surfer,  there  were  eyes  to  weep  ; 

But  ye  have  quenched  them — there  were  smiles  to  steep 

Your  hearts  in  balm,  but  they  are  lost  in  woe  ; 

And  those  whom  love  did  set  his  watch  to  keep 

Around  your  tents  truth's  freedom  to  bestow, 

Ye  stabbed  as  they  did  sleep — but  they  forgive  ye  now 

"  Oh  wherefore  should  ill  ever  flow  from  ill, 

And  pain  still  keener  pain  for  ever  breed  ? 

We  all  are  brethren — even  the  slaves  who  kill 

For  hire,  are  men ;  and  to  avenge  misdeed 

On  the  misdoer,  doth  but  Misery  feed 

With  her  own  broken  heart !     O  Earth,  O  Heaven ! 

And  thou,  dread  Nature,  which  to  every  deed 

And  all  that  lives,  or  is  to  be,  hath  given, 

Even  as  to  thee  have  these  done  ill,  and  are  forgiven. 


THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM.  177 

"Join  then  your  hands  and  hearts,  and  let  the  past 

Be  as  a  grave  which  gives  not  up  its  dead 

To  evil  thoughts." — A  film  then  overcast 

My  sense  with  dimness,  for  the  wound,  which  bled 

Freshly,  swift  shadows  o'er  mine  eyes  had  shed. 

When  I  awoke,  I  lay  mid  friends  and  foes, 

And  earnest  countenances  on  me  shed 

The  light  of  questioning  looks,  whilst  one  did  close 

My  wound  with  balmiest  herbs,  and  soothed  me  to  repose ; 

And  one,  whose  spear  had  pieixed  me,  leaned  beside 
With  quivering  lips  and  humid  eyes; — and  all 
Seemed  like  some  brothers  on  a  journey  wide 
Gone  forth,  whom  now  strange  meeting  did  befall 
In  a  strange  land,  round  one  whom  they  might  call 
Their  friend,  their  chief,  their  father,  for  essay 
Of  peril,  which  had  saved  them  from  the  thrall 
Of  death,  now  suffering.     Thus  the  vast  array 
Of  those  fraternal  bands  were  reconciled  that  day. 

Lifting  the  thunder  of  their  acclamation 

Towards  the  city,  then  the  multitude, 

And  I  among  them,  went  in  joy — a  nation 

Made  free  by  love ; — a  mighty  brotherhood 

Linked  by  a  jealous  interchange  of  good  ; 

A  glorious  pageant,  more  magnificent 

Than  kingly  slaves,  arrayed  in  gold  and  blood, 

When  they  return  from  carnage,  and  are  sent 

In  triumph  bright  beneath  the  populous  battlement 

Afar,  the  city  walls  were  thronged  on  high, 

And  myriads  on  each  giddy  turret  clung, 

And  to  each  spire,  far  lessening  in  the  sky, 

Bright  pennons  on  the  idle  winds  were  hung; 

As  we  approached,  a  shout  of  joyance  sprung 

At  once  from  all  the  crowd,  as  if  the  vast 

And  peopled  Earth  its  boundless  skies  among 

The  sudden  clamour  of  delight  had  cast, 

When  from  before  its  face  some  general  wreck  had  past. 

Our  armies  through  the  City's  hundred  gates 
Were  poured,  like  brooks  which  to  the  rocky  lair 
Of  some  deep  lake,  whose  silence  them  awaits, 
Throng  from  the  mountains  when  the  storms  are  there ; 
And,  as  we  passed  through  the  calm  sunny  air, 
A  thousand  flower-inwoven  crowns  were  shed, 
The  token  flowers  of  truth  and  freedom  fair, 
And  fairest  hands  bound  them  on  many  a  head, 
Those  angels  of  love's  heaven,  that  over  all  was  spread. 


178  THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM. 

I  trod  as  one  tranced  in  some  rapturous  vision: 

Those  bloody  bands  so  lately  reconciled, 

Were,  ever  as  they  went,  by  the  contrition 

Of  anger  turned  to  love  from  ill  beguiled, 

And  every  one  on  them  more  gently  smiled, 

Because  they  had  done  evil : — the  sweet  awe 

Of  such  mild  looks  made  their  own  hearts  grow  mild, 

And  did  with  soft  attraction  ever  draw 

Their  spirits  to  the  love  of  freedom's  equal  law. 

And  they,  and  all,  in  one  loud  symphony 

My  name  with  Liberty  commingling,  lifted, 

"  The  friend  and  the  preserver  of  the  free! 

The  parent  of  this  joy  !  and  fair  eyes,  gifted 

With  feelings  caught  from  one  who  had  uplifted 

The  light  of  a  great  spirit,  round  me  shone  ; 

And  all  the  shapes  of  this  grand  scenery  shifted 

Like  restless  clouds  before  the  stedfast  sun. — 

Where- was  that  Maid  1  I  asked,  but  it  was  known  of  none. 

Laone  was  the  name  her  love  had  chosen, 

For  she  was  nameless,  and  her  birth  none  knew: 

Where  was  Laone  now  ? — The  words  were  frozen 

Within  my  lips  with  fear;  but  to  subdue 

Such  dreadful  hope,  to  my  great  task  was  due, 

And,  when  at  length  one  brought  reply  that  she 

To-morrow  would  appear,  I  then  withdrew 

To  judge  what  need  for  that  great  throng  might  be, 

For  now  the  stars  came  tbick  over  the  twilight  sea. 

Yet  need  was  none  for  rest  or  food  to  care, 

Even  though  that  multitude  was  passing  great, 

Since  each  one  for  the  other  did  prepare 

All  kindly  succour — Therefore  to  the  gate 

Of  the  Imperial  House,  now  desolate, 

I  pass'd,  and  there  was  found  aghast,  alone, 

The  Fallen  Tyrant !— Silently  he  sate 

Upon  the  footstool  of  his  golden  throne, 

Which,  starred  with  sunny  gems,  in  its  own  lustre  shone. 

Alone,  but  for  one  child,  who  led  before  him 

A  graceful  dance  :  the  only  living  thing 

Of  all  the  crowd,  which  thither  to  adore  him 

Flocked  yesterday,  who  solace  sought  to  bring 

In  his  abandonment ! — She  knew  the  King 

Had  praised  her  dance  of  yore,  and  now  she  wove 

Its  circles,  aye  weeping  and  murmuring 

'Mid  her  sad  task  of  unregarded  love, 

That  to  no  smiles  it  might  his  speechless  sadness  move. 


THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM.  179 

She  fled  to  him,  and  wildly  clasped  his  feet 

When  human  steps  were  heard: — he  moved  nor  spoke, 

Nor  changed  his  hue,  nor  raised  his  looks  to  meet 

The  gaze  of  strangers. — Our  loud  entrance  woke 

The  echoes  of  the  hall,  which  circling  broke 

The  calm  of  its  recesses, — like  a  tomb 

Its  sculptured  walls  vacantly  to  the  stroke 

Of  footfalls  answered,  and  the  twilight's  gloom 

Lay  like  a  charnel's  mist  within  the  radiant  dome. 

The  little  child  stood  up  when  we  came  nigh  ; 
Her  lips  and  cheeks  seemed  very  pale  and  wan, 
But  on  her  forehead  and  within  her  eye 
Lay  beauty,  which  makes  hearts  that  feed  thereon 
Sick  with  excess  of  sweetness  ; — on  the  throne 
She  leaned.     The  King,  with  gathered  brow,  and  lips 
Wreathed  by  long  scorn,  did  inly  sneer  and  frown 
With  hue  like  that  when  some  great  painter  dips 
His  pencil  in  the  gloom  of  earthquake  and  eclipse. 

She  stood  beside  him  like  a  rainbow  braided 
Within  some  storm,  when  scarce  its  shadows  vast 
From  the  blue  paths  of  the  swift  sun  have  faded. 
A  sweet  and  solemn  smile,  like  Cythna's,  cast 
One  moment's  light,  which  made  my  heart  beat  fast. 
O'er  that  child's  parted  lips — a  gleam  of  bliss, 
A  shade  of  vanished  days, — as  the  tears  past 
Which  wrapt  it,  even  as  with  a  father's  kiss 
I  pressed  those  softest  eyes  in  trembling  tenderness. 

The  sceptred  wretch  then  from  that  solitude 

I  drew,  and  of  his  change  compassionate, 

With  words  of  sadness  soothed  his  rugged  mood. 

But  he,  while  pride  and  fear  held  deep  debate, 

With  sullen  guile  of  ill-dissembled  hate 

Glared  on  me  as  a  toothless  snake  might  glare; 

Pity,  not  scorn,  I  felt,  though  desolate 

The  desolator  now,  and  unaware 

The  curses  which  he  mocked  had  caught  him  by  the  hair. 

I  led  him  forth  from  that  which  now  might  seem 
A  gorgeous  grave :  through  portals  sculptured  deep 
With  imagery  beautiful  as  dream 
We  went,  and  left  the  shades  which  tend  on  sleep 
Over  its  unregarded  gold  to  keep 
Their  silent  watch. — The  child  trod  faintitigly, 
And,  as  she  went,  the  tears  which  she  did  weep, 
Glanced  in  the  star-light ;  wildered  seemed  she — 
And  when  I  spake,  for  sobs  she  could  not  answer  me. 
lfi* 


180  THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM. 

At  last  the  tyrant  cried,  "  She  hungers,  slave  ! 

Stab  her,  or  give  her  bread !" — It  was  a  tone 

Such  as  sick  fancies  in  a  new  made  grave 

Might  hear.     I  trembled,  for  the  truth  was  known, 

He  with  this  child  had  thus  been  left  alone, 

And  neither  had  gone  forth  for  food, — but  he 

In  mingled  pride  and  awe  cowered  near  his  throne, 

And  she,  a  nursling  of  captivity,  [might  be. 

Knew  nought  beyond  those  walls,  nor  what  such  change 

And  he  was  troubled  at  a  charm  withdrawn 

Thus  suddenly;  that  sceptres  ruled  no  more — 

That  even  from  gold  the  dreadful  strength  was  gone 

Which  once  made  all  things  subject  to  its  power — 

Such  wonder  seized  him,  as  if  hour  by  hour 

The  past  had  come  again  ;  and  the  swift  fall 

Of  one  so  great  and  terrible  of  yore 

To  desolateness,  in  the  hearts  of  all 

Like  wonder  stirred,  who  saw  such  awful  change  befal. 

A  mighty  crowd,  such  as  the  wide  land  pours 

Once  in  a  thousand  years,  now  gathered  round 

The  fallen  tyrant ; — like  the  rush  of  showers 

Of  hail  in  spring,  pattering  along  the  ground, 

Their  many  footsteps  fell,  else  came  no  sound 

From  the  wide  multitude  :  that  lonely  man 

Then  knew  the  burthen  of  his  change,  and  found, 

Concealing  in  the  dust  his  visage  wan, 

Refuge  from  the  keen  looks  which  thro'  his  bosom  ran. 


And  he  was  faint  withal.     I  sate  beside  him 
Upon  the  earth,  and  took  that  child  so  fair 
From  his  weak  arms,  that  ill  might  none  betide  him 
Or  her: — when  food  was  brought  to  them,  her  share 
To  his  averted  lips  the  child  did  bear : 
But,  when  she  saw  he  had  enough,  she  ate 
And  wept  the  while  ; — the  lonely  man's  despair 
Hunger  then  overcame,  and  of  his  state 
Forgetful,  on  the  dust  as  in  a  trance  he  sate. 

Slowly  the  silence  of  the  multitudes 

Past,  as  when  far  is  heard  in  some  lone  dell 

The  gathering  of  a  wind  among  the  woods — ■ 

And  he  is  fallen  !  they  cry  ;  he  who  did  dwell 

Like  famine  or  the  plague,  or  aught  more  fell, 

Among  our  homes,  is  fallen  !  the  murderer 

Who  slaked  his  thirsting  soul  as  from  a  well 

Of  blood  and  tears  with  ruin  !  He  is  here ! 

Sunk  in  a  gulph  of  scorn  from  which  none  may  him  rear! 


THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM.  181 

Then  was  heard— He  who  judged  let  him  be  brought 
To  judgment!  Blood  for  blood  cries  from  the  soil 
On  which  his  crimes  have  deep  pollution  wrought ! 
Shall  Othman  only  unavenged  despoil  ? 
Shall  they,  who  by  the  stress  of  grinding  toil 
Wrest  from  the  unwilling  earth  his  luxuries, 
Perish  for  crime,  while  his  foul  blood  may  boil, 
Or  creep  within  his  veins  at  will? — Arise  ! 
And  to  high  justice  make  her  chosen  sacrifice. 

"What  do  ye  seek^what  fear  ye  ?"  then  I  cried, 
Suddenly  starting  forth,  "  that  ye  should  shed 
The  blood  of  Othman — if  your  hearts  are  tried 
In  the  true  love  of  freedom,  cease  to  dread 
This  one  poor  lonely  man — beneath  Heaven  shed 
In  purest  light  above  us  all,  through  earth, 
Maternal  earth,  who  doth  her  sweet  smiles  spread 
For  all,  let  him  go  free  ;  until  the  worth 
Of  human  nature  win  from  these  a  second  birth. 

"  What  call  ye  justice  ?  Is  there  one  who  ne'er 
In  secret  thought  has  wished  another's  ill  ? — 
Are  ye  all  pure  ?   Let  those  stand  forth  who  hear,. 
And  tremble  not.     Shall  they  insult  and  kill, 
If  such  they  be  ?  their  mild  eyes  can  they  fill 
With  the  false  anger  of  the  hypocrite  ? 
Alas,  such  were  not  pure — the  chastened  will 
Of  virtue  sees  that  justice  is  the  light 
Of  love,  and  not  revenge,  and  terror  and  despif  e." 

The  murmur  of  the  people,  slowly  dying, 

Paused  as  I  spake  ;  then  those  who  near  me  were 

Cast  gentle  looks  where  the  lone  man  was  lying 

Shrouding  his  head,  which  now  that  infant  fair 

Clasped  on  her  lap  in  silence  ; — through  the  air 

Sobs  were  then  heard,  and  many  kissed  my  feet 

In  pity's  madness,  and,  to  the  despair 

Of  him  whom  late  they  cursed,  a  solace  sweet 

His  very  victims  brought — soft  looks  and  speeches  meet. 

Then  to  a  home,  for  his  repose  assigned, 

Accompanied  by  the  still  throng  he  went 

In  silence,  where,  to  soothe  his  rankling  mind, 

Some  likeness  of  his  ancient  state  was  lent ; 

And,  if  his  heart  could  have  been  innocent 

As  those  who  pardoned  him,  he  might  have  ended 

His  days  in  peace  ;  but  his  straight  lips  were  bent, 

Men  said,  into  a  smile  which  guile  portended. 

A  sight  with  which  that  child-like  hope  with  fear  was  blended. 


182  THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM. 

'Twas  midnight  now,  the  eve  of  that  great  day, 

Whereon  the  many  nations  at  whose  call 

The  chains  of  earth  like  mist  melted  away, 

Decreed  to  hold  a  sacred  Festival, 

A  rite  to  attest  the  equality  of  all 

Who  live.     So  to  their  homes,  to  dream  or  wake 

All  went.     The  sleepless  silence  did  recal 

Laone  to  my  thoughts,  with  hopes  that  make 

The  flood  recede  from  which  their  thirst  they  seek  to  slake. 

The  dawn  flowed  forth,  and  from  its  purple  fountains 
I  drank  those  hopes  which  make  the  spirit  quail, 
As  to  the  plain  between  the  misty  mountains 
And  the  great  City,  with  a  countenance  pale 
I  went: — It  was  a  sight  which  might  avail 
To  make  men  weep  exulting  tears,  for  whom 
Now  first  from  human  power  the  reverend  veil 
Was  torn,  to  see  Earth  from  her  general  womb 
Pour  forth  her  swarming  sons  to  a  fraternal  doom : 

To  see,  far  glancing  in  the  misty  morning, 

The  signs  of  that  innumerable  host, 

To  hear  one  sound  of  many  made,  the  warning 

Of  Earth  to  Heaven  from  its  free  children  tost, 

While  the  eternal  hills,  and  the  sea  lost 

In  wavering  light,  and,  starring  the  blue  sky 

The  city's  myriad  spires  of  gold,  almost 

With  human  joy  made  mute  society 

Its  witnesses  with  men  who  must  hereafter  be. 


To  see,  like  some  vast  island  from  the  Ocean, 

The  Altar  of  the  Federation  rear 

Its  pile  i'the  midst;  a  work  which  the  devotion 

Of  millions  in  one  night  created  there, 

Sudden  as  when  the  moonrise  makes  appear 

Strange  clouds  in  the  east ;  a  marble  pyramid 

Distinct  with  steps :  that  mighty  shape  did  wear 

The  light  of  genius;  its  still  shadow  hid 

Far  ships  :  to  know  its  height  the  morning  mists  forbid ! 

To  hear  the  restless  multitudes  for  ever 

Around  the  base  of  that  great  Altar  flow, 

As  on  some  mountain  islet  burst  and  shiver 

Atlantic  waves  ;  and  solemnly  and  slow 

As  the  wind  bore  that  tumult  to  and  fro, 

To  feel  the  dreamlike  music,  which  did  swim 

Like  beams  through  floating  clouds  on  waves  below, 

Falling  in  pauses  from  that  Altar  dim 

As  silver-sounding  tongues  breathed  an  aerial  hymn. 


THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM.  183 

To  hear,  to  see,  to  live,  was  on  that  morn 

Lethean  joy!  so  that  all  those  assembled 

Cast  off  their  memories  of  the  past  outworn  : 

Two  only  bosoms  with  their  own  life  trembled, 

And  mine  was  one, — and  we  had  both  dissembled, 

So  with  a  beating  heart  I  went,  as  one, 

Who  having  much,  covets  yet  more,  resembled; 

A  lost  and  dear  possession,  which  not  won, 

He  walks  in  lonely  gloom  beneath  the  noonday  sun. 

To  the  great  pyramid  I  came  :  its  stair 

With  female  quires  was  thronged:  the  loveliest 

Among  the  free,  grouped  with  its  sculptures  rare. 

As  I  approached,  the  morning's  golden  mist, 

Which  now  the  wonder-stricken  breezes  kist 

With  their  cold  lips,  fled,  and  the  summit  shone 

Like  Athos  seen  from  Samothracia,  drest 

In  earliest  light  by  vintagers,  and  one 

Sate  there,  a  female  Shape  upon  an  ivory  throne. 

A  form  most  like  the  imagined  habitant 

Of  silver  exhalations  sprung  from  dawn, 

By  winds  which  feed  on  sunrise  woven,  to  enchant 

The  faiths  of  men;  all  mortal  eyes  were  drawn, 

As  famished  mariners  through  strange  seas  gone 

Gaze  on  a  burning  watch-tower,  by  the  light 

Of  those  divinest  lineaments — alone 

With  thoughts  which  none  could  share,  from  that  fair  sight 

1  turned  in  sickness,  for  a  veil  shrouded  her  countenance  bright. 

And,  neither  did  I  hear  the  acclamations, 

Which,  from  brief  silence  bursting,  filled  the  air 

With  her  strange  name  and  mine,  from  all  the  nations 

Which  we,  they  said,  in  strength  had  gathered  there 

From  the  sleep  of  bondage  ;  nor  the  vision  fair 

Of  that  bright  pageantry  beheld, — but  blind 

And  silent,  as  a  breathing  corpse  did  fare, 

Leaning  upon  my  friend,  till,  like  a  wind 

To  fevered  cheeks,  a  voice  flowed  o'er  my  troubled  mind. 

Like  music  of  some  minstrel  heavenly  gifted, 

To  one  whom  fiends  enthral,  this  voice  to  me  ; 

Scarce  did  I  wish  her  veil  to  be  uplifted 

I  was  so  calm  and  joyous. — I  could  see 

The  platform  where  we  stood,  the  statues  three 

Which  kept  their  marble  watch  on  that  high  shrine, 

The  multitudes,  the  mountains,  and  the  sea  ; 

As,  when  eclipse  hath  past,  things  sudden  shine 

To  men's  astonished  eyes  most  clear  and  crystalline. 


184  THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM. 

At  first  Laone  spoke  most  tremulously : 

But  soon  her  voice  that  calmness  which  it  shed 

Gathered,  and — "  thou  art  whom  I  sought  to  see 

And  thou  art  our  first  votary  here,"  she  said, 

"  I  had  a  clear  friend  once,  but  he  is  dead ! — - 

And  of  all  those  on  thewide  earth  who  breathe, 

Thou  dost  resemble  him  alone,— I  spread 

This  veil  between  us  two,  that  thou  beneath 

Shouldst  image  one  who  may  have  been  long  lost  in  death. 

"For  this  wilt  thou  not  henceforth  pardon  me  ? 

Yes,  but  those  joys  which  silence  well  requite 

Forbid  reply: — -why  men  have  chosen  me 

To  be  the  Priestess  of  this  holiest  rite 

I  scarcely  know,  but  that  the  floods  of  light 

Which  Mow  over  the  world,  have  borne  me  hither 

To  meet  thee,  long  most  dear;  and  now  unite 

Thine  hand  with  mine,  and  may  all  comfort  wither 

From  both  the  hearts  whose  pulse  in  joy  now  beats  together. 

"  If  our  own  will  as  others'  law  we  bind, 

If  the  foul  worship  trampled  here  we  fear  ; 

If  as  ourselves  we  cease  to  love  our  kind!" — 

She  paused,  and  pointed  upwards — sculptured  there 

Three  shapes  around  her  ivory  throne  appear ; 

One  was  a  Giant,  like  a  child  asleep 

On  a  loose  rock,  whose  grasp  crushed,  as  it  were 

In  dream,  sceptres  and  crowns;  and  one  did  keep 

Its  watchful  eyes  in  doubt  whether  to  smile  or  weep  ; 

A  Woman  sitting  on  the  sculptured  disk 

Of  the  broad  earth,  and  feeding  from  one  breast 

A  human  babe  and  a  young  basilisk  ; 

Her  looks  were  sweet  as  Heaven's  when  loveliest 

In  Autumn  eves. — The  third  Image  was  drest 

In  white  wings,  swift  as  clouds  in  winter  skies. 

Beneath  his  feet,  'mongst  ghastliest  forms,  represt 

Lay  Faith,  an  obscene  worm,  who  sought  to  rise, 

While  calmly  on  the  Sun  he  turned  his  diamond  eyes. 

Beside  that  Image  then  I  sate,  while  she 

Stood,  'mid  the  throngs  which  ever  ebbed  and  flowed 

Like  light  amid  the  shadows  of  the  sea 

Cast  from  one  cloudless  star,  and  on  the  crowd 

That  touch,  which  none  who  feels  forgets,  bestowed  ; 

And,  whilst  the  sun  returned  the  steadfast  gaze 

Of  the  great  Image  as  o'er  Heaven  it  glode, 

That  rite  had  place  ;  it  ceased  when  sunset's  blaze 

Burned  o'er  the  isles  ;   all  stood  in  joy  and  deep  amaze  ; 


THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM.  185 

When  in  the  silence  of  all  spirits  there 

Laone's  voice  was  felt,  and  through  the  air 

Her  thrilling  gestures  spoke,  most  eloquently  fair. 

1.  "'  Calm  art  thou  as  yon  sunset  !  swift  and  strong 
As  new-fledged  Eagles,  beautiful  and  young. 

That  float  among  the  blinding  beams  of  morning  ; 
And  underneath  thy  feet  writhe  Faith,  and  Folly, 
Custom,  and  Hell,  and  mortal  Melancholy — 
Hark  !  the  Earth  starts  to  hear  the  mighty  warning 

Of  thy  voice  sublime  and  holy  ; 

Its  free  spirits,  here  assembled, 

See  thee,  feel  thee,  know  thee  now  : — 

To  thy  voice  their  hearts  have  trembled, 

Like  ten  thousand  clouds  which  flow 

With  one  wide  wind  as  it  flies  !— 
Wisdom!  thy  irresistible  children  rise 
To  hail  thee,  and  the  elements  they  chain 
And  their  own  will  to  swell  the  glory  of  thy  train. 

2.  "  O  Spirit  vast  and  deep  as  Night  and  Heaven! 
Mother  and  soul  of  all  to  which  is  given 

The  light  of  life,  the  loveliness  of  being, 
Lo  !  thou  dost  re-ascend  the  human  heart, 
Thy  throne  of  power,  almighty  as  thou  wert, 
In  dreams  of  Poets  old,  grown  pale  by  seeing 

The  shade  of  thee  : — now,  millions  start 

To  feel  thy  lightnings  througn  them  burning : 

Nature,  or  God,  or  Love,  or  Pleasure, 

Or  Sympathy,  the  sad  tears  turning 

To  mutual  smiles,  a  drainless  treasure, 

Descends  amidst  us ; — Scorn  and  Hate, 

Revenge  and  Selfishness,  are  desolate — 
A  hundred  nations  swear  that  there  shall  be 
Pity,  and  Peace,  and  Love,  among  the  good  and  free! 

3.  Eldest  of  things,  divine  Equality ! 
Wisdom  and  Love  are  but  the  slaves  of  thee, 
The  angels  of  thy  sway,  who  pour  around  thee 
Treasures  from  all  the  cells  of  human  thought, 
And  from  the  Stars,  and  from  the  Ocean  brought, 
And  the  last  living  heart  whose  beatings  bound  thee: 

The  powerful  and  the  wise  had  sought 
Thy  coming;  thou  in  light  descending 
O'er  the  wide  land  which  is  thine  own, 
Like  the  spring  whose  breath  is  blending 
All  blasts  of  fragrance  into  one, 
Comest  upon  the  paths  of  men  ! — 
Earth  bares  her  general  bosom  to  thy  ken, 


186  THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM. 

And  all  her  children  here  in  glory  meet 

To  feed  thy  smiles,  and  clasp  thy  sacred  feet. 

4.  "  My  brethren,  we  are  free  !  the  plains  and  mountains 
The  grey  sea  shore,  the  forests,  and  the  fountains, 

Are  haunts  of  happiest  dwellers  ; — man  and  woman, 
Their  common  bondage  burst,  may  freely  borrow 
From  lawless  love  a  solace  for  their  sorrow, 
For  oft  we  still  must  weep,  since  we  are  human. 

A  stormy  night's  serenest  morrow, 

Whose  showers  are  pity's  gentle  tears, 

Whose  clouds  are  smiles  of  those  that  die 

Like  infants,  without  hopes  or  fears, 

And  whose  beams  are  joys  that  lie 

In  blended  hearts,  now  holds  dominion  ; 
The  dawn  of  mind,  which,  upwards  on  a  pinion 
Borne,  swift  as  sun-rise,  far  illumines  space, 
And  clasps  this  barren  world  in  its  own  bright  embrace ! 

5.  "  My  brethren,  we  are  free !  the  fruits  are  glowing 
Beneath  the  stars,  and  the  night-winds  are  flowing 
O'er  the  ripe  corn,  the  birds  and  beasts  are  dreaming — 
Never  again  may  blood  of  bird  or  beast 

Stain  with  its  venomous  stream  a  human  feast, 
To  the  pure  skies  in  accusation  steaming; 
Avenging  poisons  shall  have  ceased 

To  feed  disease  and  fear  and  madness, 

The  dwellers  of  the  earth  and  air 

Shall  throng  around  our  steps  in  gladness, 

Seeking  their  food  or  refuge  there. 
Our  toil  from  thought  all  glorious  forms  shall  cull, 
To  make  this  Earth,  our  home,  more  beautiful, 
And  Science,  and  her  sister  Poesy, 
Shall  clothe  in  light  the  fields  and  cities  of  the  free  ! 

6.  "  Victory,  Victory  to  the  prostrate  nations ! 
Bear  witness,  Night,  and  ye,  mute  Constellations, 
Who  gaze  on  us  from  your  crystalline  cars ! 

Thoughts  have  gone  forth  whobe  powers  can  sleep  no  more! 
Victory!  Victory!  Earth's  ren'otest  shore, 
Regions  which  groan  beneath  the  Antarctic  stars, 
The  green  lands  cradled  in  the  roar 

Of  western  waves,  and  wildernesses 

Peopled  and  vast,  which  skirt  the  oceans 

Where  morning  dyes  her  golden  tresses, 

Shall  soon  partake  our  high  emotions: 
Kings  shall  turn  pale!   Almighty  Fear, 
The  Fiend  God,  when  our  charmed  name  he  hear, 
Shall  fade  like  shadow  from  his  thousand  fanes, 
While  Truth  with  Joy  enthroned  o'er  his  lost  empire  reigns!" 


187 


THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM. 

Ere  she  had  censed,  the  mists  of -night  entwining 
Their  dim  woof,  floated  o'er  the  infinite  throng  j 
She,  like  a  spirit  through  the  darkness  shining, 
In  tones  whose  sweetness  silence  did  prolong, 
As  if  to  lingering  winds  they  did  belong, 
Poured  forth  her  inmost  soul :  a  passionate  speech 
With  wild  and  thrilling  pauses  woven  among, 
Which  whoso  heard,  was  mute,  for  it  could  teach 
To  rapture  like  her  own  all  listening  hearts  to  reach. 

Her  voice  was  as  a  mountain  stream  which  sweeps 

The  withered  leaves  of  Autumn  to  the  lake, 

And  in  some  deep  and  narrow  bay  then  sleeps 

In  the  shadow  of  the  shores  ;  as  dead  leaves  wake 

Under  the  wave,  in  flowers  and  herbs  which  make 

Those  green  depths  beautiful  when  skies  are  blue, 

The  multitude  so  moveless  did  partake 

Such  living  change,  and  kindling  murmurs  flew 

As  o'er  that  speechless  calm  Jelight  and  wonder  grew. 

Over  the  plain  the  throngs  were  scattered  then 
In  groups  around  the  fires,  which  from  the  sea 
Even  to  the  gorge  of  the  first  mountain  glen 
Blazed  wide  and  far :   the  banquet  of  the  free 
Was  spread  beneath  many  a  dark  cypress  tree, 
Beneath  whose  spires,  which  swayed  in  the  red  light, 
Reclining  as  they  are,  of  Liberty, 
And  Hope,  and  Justice,  and  Laone's  name, 
Earth's  children  did  a  woof  of  happy  converse  frame. 

Their  feast  was  such  as  Earth,  the  general  mother, 

Pours  from  her  fairest  bosom,  when  she  smiles 

In  the  embrace  of  Autumn; — to  each  other 

As  when  some  parent  fondly  reconciles 

Her  warring  children,  she  their  wrath  beguiles 

With  her  own  sustenance  ;  they  relenting  weep  : 

Such  was  this  festival,  which  from  their  isles, 

And  continents,  and  winds,  and  oceans  deep, 

All  shapes  might  throng  to  share,  that  fly,  :>r  walk,  or  creep: 

Might  share  in  peace  and  innocence,  for  gore 

Or  poison  none  this  festal  did  pollute, 

But  piled  on  high,  an  overflowing  store 

Of  pomegranates,  and  citrons,  fairest  fruit 

Melons,  and  dates,  and  figs,  and  many  a  root 

Sweet  and  sustaining,  and  bright  grapes  ere  yet 

Accursed  fire  their  mild  juice  could  transmute 

Into  a  mortal  bane,  and  brown  corn  set 

In  baskets  ;  with  pure  streams  their  thirsting  lips  they  wet. 


1S8 


THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM. 


Laone  had  descended  from  the  shrine, 

And  every  deepest  look  and  holiest  mind 

Fed  on  her  form,  though  now  those  tones  divine 

Were  silent  as  she  past ;  she  did  unwind 

Her  veil,  as  with  the  crowds  of  her  own  kind 

She  mixed  ;  some  impulse  made  my  heart  refrain 

From  seeking  her  that  night,  so  I  reclined 

Amidst  a  group,  where  on  the  utmost  plain 

A  festal  watch-fire  burned  beside  the  dusky  main. 

And  joyous  was  our  feast ;  pathetic  talk, 

And  wit,  and  harmony  of  choral  strains, 

While  fair  Orion  o'er  the  waves  did  walk 

That  flow  among  the  isles,  held  us  in  chains 

Of  sweet  captivity,  which  none  disdains 

Who  feels :  but,  when  his  zone  grew  dim  in  mist 

Which  clothes  the  ocean's  bosom,  o'er  the  plains 

The  multitudes  went  homeward,  to  their  rest, 

Which  that  delightful  day  with  its  own  shadow  bk 


Beside  the  dimness  of  the  glimmering  sea, 

Weaving  swift  language  from  impassioned  themes, 

With  that  dear  friend  I  lingered,  who  to  me 

So  late  had  been  restored,  beneath  the  gleams 

Of  the  silver  stars  ;  and  ever  in  soft  dreams 

Of  future  love  and  peace  sweet  converse  lapt 

Our  willing  fancies,  till  the  pallid  beams 

Of  the  last  watchfirc  fell,  and  darkness  wrapt 

The  waves,  and  each  bright  chain  of  floating  fire  was  snapt. 

And  till  we  came  even  to  the  City's  wall 

And  the  great  gate,  then,  none  knew  whence  or  why, 

Disquiet  on  the  multitudes  did  fall : 

And  first,  one  pale  and  breathless  passed  us  by, 

And  stared  and  spoke  not ;  then  with  piercing  cry 

A  troop  of  wild-eyed  women,  by  the  shrieks 

Of  their  own  terror  driven, — tumultuously 

Hither  and  thither  hurrying  with  pale  cheeks, 

Each  one  from  fear  unknown  a  sudden  refuge  seeks — 

Then,  rallying  cries  of  treason  and  of  danger 
Resounded:  and — "  They  come  !  to  arms!  to  arms  ! 
The  Tyrant  is  amongst  us,  and  the  stranger 
Comes  to  enslave  us  in  his  name  !  to  arms  !" 
In  vain  :  for  Panic,  the  pale  fiend  who  charms 
Strength  to  forswear  her  right,  those  millions  swept 


THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM.  189 

Like  waves  before  the  tempest — these  alarms 

Came  to  me,  as  to  know  their  cause  I  leapt 

On  the  gate's  turret,  and  in  rage,  and  grief,  and  scorn,  I  wept! 

For  to  the  North  I  saw  the  town  on  fire, 

And  its  red  light  made  morning  pallid  now, 

Which  burst  over  wide  Asia. — Louder,  higher, 

The  yells  of  victory  and  the  screams  of  woe 

I  heard  approach,  and  saw  the  throng  below 

Stream  through  the  gates  like  foam-wrought  waterfalls 

Fed  from  a  thousand  storms — the  fearful  glow 

Of  bombs  flares  overhead — at  intervals 

The  red  artillery's  bolt  mangling  among  them  falls. 

And  now  the  horsemen  come — and  all  was  done 

Swifter  than  I  have  spoken — I  beheld 

Their  red  swords  flash  in  the  unrisen  sun. 

I  rushed  among  the  rout  to  have  repelled 

That  miserable  flight — one  moment  quelled 

By  voice,  and  looks,  and  eloquent  despair, 

As  if  reproach  from  their  own  hearts  withheld 

Their  steps,  they  stood  ;  but  soon  came  pouring  there 

New  multitudes,  and  did  those  rallied  bands  o'erbear. 

1  strove,  as  drifted  on  some  cataract 

By  irresistible  streams,  some  wretch  might  strive 

Who  hears  its  fatal  roar : — the  files  compact 

Whelmed  me,  and  from  the  gate  availed  to  drive 

With  quickening  impulse,  as  each  bolt  did  rive 

Their  ranks  with  bloodier  chasm  j — into  the  plain 

Disgorged  at  length  the  dead  and  the  alive, 

In  one  dread  mass,  were  parted,  and  the  stain 

Of  blood  from  mortal  steel  fell  o'er  the  fields  like  rain 

For  now  the  despot's  blood-hounds  with  their  prey 

Unarmed  and  unaware,  were  gorging  deep 

Their  gluttony  of  death  ;  the  loose  array 

Of  horsemen  o'er  the  wide  fields'  murdering  sweep, 

And  with  loud  laughter  for  their  tyrant  reap 

A  harvest  sown  with  other  hopes;  the  while, 

Far  overhead,  ships  from  Propontis  keep 

A  killing  rain  of  tire  : — when  the  waves  smile 

As  sudden  earthquakes  light  many  a  volcano  isle. 

Thus  sudden,  unexpected  feast  was  spread 

For  the  carrion  fowls  of  Heaven. — I  saw  the  sight— 

I  moved — I  lived — as  o'er  the  heaps  of  dead, 

Whose  stony  eyes  glared  in  the  morning  light, 

I  trod  ; — to  me  there  came  no  thought  of  flight, 

But  with  loud  cries  of  scorn  which  whoso  heard 


190  THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM. 

That  dreaded  death,  felt  in  his  veins  the  might 
Of  virtuous  shame  return,  the  crowd  I  stirred, 
And  desperation's  hope  in  many  hearts  recurred. 

A  band  of  brothers,  gathering  round  me,  made, 

Although  unarmed,  a  stedfast  front,  and  still 

Retreating,  with  stern  looks  beneath  the  shade 

Of  gathered  eyebrows,  did  the  victors  fill 

With  doubt  even  in  success  ;  deliberate  will 

Inspired  our  growing  troop  ;  not  overthrown, 

It  gained  the  shelter  of  a  grassy  hill, 

And  ever  still  our  comrades  were  hewn  down, 

And  their  defenceless  limbs  beneath  our  footsteps  strown. 

Immoveably  we  stood — in  joy  I  found, 
Beside  me  then,  firm  as  a  giant  pine 
Among  the  mountain  vapours  driven  around, 
The  old  man  whom  I  loved — his  eyes  divine 
With  a  mild  look  of  courage  answered  mine, 
And  my  young  friend  was  near,  and  ardently 
His  hand  grasped  mine  a  moment — now  the  line 
Of  war  extended,  to  our  rallying  cry, 
As  myriads  flocked  in  love  and  brotherhood  to  die. 

For  ever  while  the  sun  was  climbing  Heaven 

The  horsemen  hewed  our  unarmed  myriads  down 

Safely,  though,  when  by  thirst  of  carnage  driven 

Too  near,  those  slaves  were  swiftly  overthrown 

By  hundreds  leaping  on  them :  flesh  and  bone 

Soon  made  our  ghastly  ramparts  ;  then  the  shaft 

Of  the  artillery  from  the  sea  was  thrown 

More  fast  and  fiery,  and  the  conquerors  laughed 

In   pride  to  hear  the  wind  our  screams  of  torment  waft. 

For  on  one  side  alone  the  hill  gave  shelter, 

So  vast  that  phalanx  of  unconquered  men, 

And  there  the  living  in  their  blood  did  welter 

Of  the  dead  and  dying,  which,  in  that  green  glen, 

Like  stifled  torrents,  made  a  pi  ashy  fen 

Under  the  feet — thus  was  the  butchery  waged 

While  the  sun  clomb  Heaven's  eastern  steep — but  when 

It  'gan  to  sink,  a  fiercer  combat  raged, 

For  in  more  doubtful  strife  the  armies  were  engaged. 

Within  a  cave  upon  the  hill  were  found 

A  bundle  of  rude  pikes,  the  instrument 

Of  those  who  war  but  on  their  native  ground 

For  natural  rights  ;  a  shout  of  joyance  sent 

Even  from  our  hearts  the  wide  air  pierced  and  rent, 


THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM.  I91 

As  those  few  arms  the  bravest  and  the  best 

Seized,  and  each  sixth,  thus  armed,  did  now  present 

A  line  which  covered  and  sustained  the  rest, 

A  confident  phalanx,  which  the  foes  on  every  side  invest. 

That  onset  turned  the  foes  to  flight  almost, 
But  soon  they  saw  their  present  strength,  and  knew 
That  coming  night  would  to  our  resolute  host 
Bring  victory  ;  so,  dismounting  close,  they  drew 
Their  glittering  files,  and  then  the  combat  grew 
Unequal,  but  most  horrible; — and  ever 
Our  myriads,  whom  the  swift  bolt  overthrew, 
Or  the  red  sword,  failed  like  a  mountain  river 
Which  rushes  forth  in  foam  to  sink  in  sands  for  ever. 

Sorrow  and  shame,  to  see  with  their  own  kind 

Our  human  brethren  mix,  like  beasts  of  blood 

To  mutual  ruin  armed  by  one  behind, 

Who  sits  and  scoffs ! — That  friend  so  mild  and  good, 

Who  like  its  shadow  near  my  youth  had  stood, 

Was  stabbed  ! — my  old  preserver's  hoary  hair, 

With  the  flesh  clinging  to  its  roots,  was  strewed 

Under  my  feet!— I  lost  all  sense  or  care, 

And  like  the  rest  I  grew  desperate  and  unaware. 

The  battle  became  ghastlier — in  the  midst 

I  paused,  and  saw,  how  ugly  and  how  fell, 

O  Hate  !  thou  art,  even  when  thy  life  thou  shedd'st 

For  love.     The  ground  in  many  a  little  dell 

Was  broken,  up  and  down  whose  steeps  befel 

Alternate  victory  and  defeat,  and  there 

The  combatants  with  rage  most  horrible 

Strove,  and  their  eyes  started  with  cracking  stare, 

And  impotent  their  tongues  they  lolled  into  the  air. 

Flaccid  and  foamy,  like  a  mad  dog's  hanging : 
Want,  and  Moon-madness,  and  the  Pest's  swift  bane 
When  its  shafts  smite — while  yet  its  bow  is  twanging — 
Have  each  their  mark  and  sign — some  ghastly  stain; 
And  this  was  thine,  O  War  !  of  hate  and  pain 
Thou  loathed  slave.      I  saw  all  shapes  of  death, 
And  ministered  to  many,  o'er  the  plain, 
While  carnage  in  the  sun-beam's  warmth  did  seethe, 
Till  twilight  o'er  the  east  wove  her  serenest  wreath. 

The  few  who  yet  survived,  resolute  and  firm, 
Around  me  fought.     At  the  decline  of  day, 
Winding  above  the  mountain's  snowy  term, 
New  banners  shone  :  they  quivered  in  the  ray 
Of  the  sun's  unseen  orb — ere  night  the  array 
Of  fresh  troops  hemmed  us  in — of  those  brave  bands 
17* 


192  THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM. 

I  soon  survived  alone — and  now  I  lay 
Vanquished  and  faint,  the  grasp  of  bloody  hands 
I  felt,  and  saw  on  high  the  glare  of  falling  brands  ; 

When  on  my  foes  a  sudden  terror  came, 

And  they  fled,  scattering. — Lo !  with  reinless  speed 

A  black  Tartarian  horse  of  giant  frame 

Comes  trampling  o'er  the  dead;  the  living  bleed 

Beneath  the  hoofs  of  that  tremendous  steed, 

On  which,  like  to  an  Angel,  robed  in  white, 

Sate  one  waving  a  sword: — the  hosts  recede 

And  fly,  as  through  their  ranks,  with  awful  might 

Sweeps  in  the  shadow  of  eve  that  Phantom  swift  and  bright  | 

And  its  path  made  a  solitude.— I  rose 

And  marked  its  coming;  it  relaxed  its  course 

As  it  approached  me,  and  the  wind,  that  flows 

Through  night,  bare  accents  to  mine  ear  whose  force 

Might  create  smiles  in  death. — The  Tartar  horse 

Paused,  and  I  saw  the  shape  its  might  which  swayed, 

And  heard  her  musical  pants,  like  the  sweet  source 

Of  waters  in  the  desert,  as  she  said, 

"  Mount  with  me,  Laon,  now  !" — 1  rapidly  obeyed. 

Then  "Away  !  away  !"  she  cried,  and  stretched  her  sword 

As  'twere  a  scourge  over  the  courser's  head, 

And  lightly  shook  the  reins. — We  spake  no  word, 

But  like  the  vapour  of  the  tempest  fled 

Over  the  plain;  her  dark  hair  was  dispread, 

Like  the  pine's  looks  upon  the  lingering  blast  ; 

Over  mine  eyes  its  shadowy  strings  it  spread 

Fitfully,  and  the  hills  and  streams  fled  fast, 

As  o'er  their  glimmering  forms  the  steed's  broad  shadow  past  j 

And  his  hoofs  ground  the  rocks  to  fire  and  dust, 

His  strong  sides  made  the  torrents  rise  in  spray, 

And  turbulence,  as  if  a  whirlwind's  gust 

Surrounded  us : — and  still  away  !  away  ! 

Through  the  desert  night  we  sped,  while  she  alway 

Gazed  on  a  mountain  which  we  neared,  whose  crest 

Crowned  with  a  marble  ruin,  in  the  ray 

Of  the  obscure  stars  gleamed  ;— its  rugged  breast 

The  steed  strained  up,  and  then  his  impulse  did  arrest. 

A  rocky  hill  which  overhung  the  Ocean : — 

From  that  lone  ruin,  when  the  steed  that  panted 

Paused,  might  be  heard  the  murmer  of  the  motion 

Of  waters,  as  in  spots  for  ever  haunted 

By  the  choicest  winds  of  Heaven,  which  are  enchanted 

To  music  by  the  wand  of  Solitude, 


THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM.  193 

That  wizard  wild,  and  the  far  tents  implanted 

Upon  the  plain,  be  seen  by  those  who  stood 

Thence  marking-  the  dark  shore  of  Ocean's  curved  flood. 

One  moment  these  were  heard  and  seen — another 
Past ;  and  the  two  who  stood  beneath  that  night, 
Each  only  heard,  or  saw,  or  felt,  the  other. 
As  from  the  lofty  steed  she  did  alight, 
Cythna,  (for,  from  the  eyes  whose  deepest  light 
Of  love  and  sadness  made  my  lips  feel  pale 
With  influence  strange  of  mournfullest  delight, 
My  own  sweet  Cythna  looked,)  with  joy  did  quail, 
And  felt  her  strength  in  tears  of  human  weakness  fail. 

And  for  a  space  in  my  embrace  she  rested, 

Her  head  on  my  unquiet  heart  reposing, 

While  my  faint  arms  her  languid  frame  invested  : 

At  length  she  looked  on  me,  and,  half  unclosing 

Her  tremulous  lips,  said,  "  Friend,  thy  bands  were  losing 

The  battle,  as  I  stood  before  the  King 

In  bonds. —  I  burst  them  then,  and,  swiftly  choosing 

The  time,  did  seize  a  Tartar's  sword,  and  spring 

Upon  his  horse,  and  swift  as  on  the  whirlwind's  wing, 

"  Have  thou  and  I  been  borne  beyond  pursuer; 

And  we  are  here." — Then,  turning  to  the  steed, 

She  pressed  the  white  moon  on  his  front  with  pure 

And  rose-like  lips,  and  many  a  fragrant  weed 

From  the  green  ruin  plucked,  that  he  might  feed ; — 

But  I  to  a  stone  seat  that  Maiden  led, 

And,  kissing  her  fair  eyes,  said,  "  Thou  hast  need 

Of  rest,"  and  I  heaped  up  the  courser's  bed 

In  a  green  mossy  nook,  with  mountain  flowers  dispread. 

Within  that  ruin,  (where  a  shattered  portal  , 
Looks  to  the  eastern  stars,  abandoned  now 
By  man,  to  be  the  home  of  things  immortal, 
Memories,  like  awful  ghosts  which  come  and  go, 
And  must  inherit  all  he  builds  below, 
W  hen  he  is  gone),  o'er  whose  roof 
Fair  clinginff  weeds  with  ivy  pale  did  grow, 
Clamping  its  grey  rents  with  a  verdurous  woof 
A  hanging  dome  of  leaves,  a  canopy  moon-proof. 

Th'  autumnal  winds,  as  if  spell-bound,  had  made 
A  natural  couch  of  leaves  in  that  recess, 
Which  seasons  none  disturbed,  but  in  the  shade 
Of  flowering  parasites  did  spring  love  to  dress 
With  their  sweet  blooms  the  wintry  loneliness 
Of  those  dead  leaves,  shedding  their  stars,  wheneer 


194  THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM- 

The  wandering  wind  her  nurslings  might  caress; 

Whose  intertwining  fingers  ever  there, 

Wade  music  wild  and  soft  that  filled  the  listening  air. 

\V> »know  not  where  we  go,  or  what  sweet  dream 
May  pilot  us  through  caverns  strange  and  fair 
Of  far  and  pathless  passion,  while  the  stream 
Of  life,  our  bark  doth  on  its  whirlpools  bear, 
Spreading  swift  wings  as  sails  to  the  dim  air  : 
Nor  should  we  seek  to  know,  so  the  devotion 
Of  love  and  gentle  thoughts  be  heard  still  there 
Louder  and  louder  from  the  utmost  Ocean 
Of  universal  life,  attaining  its  commotion. 

To  the  pure,  all  things  are  pure !  Oblivion  wrapt 
Our  spirits,  and  the  fearful  overthrow 
Of  public  hope  was  from  our  being  snapt, 
Though  linked  years  had  bound  it  there  ;  for  now 
A  power,  a  thirst,  a  knowledge,  which  below 
All  thoughts,  like  light  beyond  the  atmosphere, 
Clothing  its  clouds  with  grace,  doth  ever  flow, 
Come  on  us,  as  we  sate  in  silence  there, 
Beneath  the  golden  stars  of  the  clear  azure  air. 

In  silence  which  doth  follow  talk  that  causes 

The  baffled  heart  to  speak  with  sighs  and  tears, 

When  wildering  passion  swalloweth  up  the  pauses 

Of  inexpressive  speech: — the  youthful  years 

Which  we  together  past,  their  hopes  and  fears, 

The  blood  itself  which  ran  within  our  frames, 

That  likeness  of  the  features  which  endears 

The  thoughts  expressed  bv  them,  our  very  names, 

And  all  the  winged  hours  which  speechless  memory  claims, 

Had  fo^nd  a  voice : — and  ere  that  voice  did  pass, 
The  night  grew  damp  and  dim,  and  through  a  rent 
Of  the  ruin  where  we  sate,  from  the  morass, 
A  wandering  Meteor,  by  some  wild  wind  sent, 
Hung  high  in  the  green  dome,  to  which  it  lent 
A  faint  and  pallid  lustre ;  while  the  song 
Of  blasts,  in  which  its  blue  hair  quivering  bent,  » 
Strewed  strangest  sounds  the  moving  leaves  among: 
A  wondrous  light,  the  sound  as  of  a  spirit's  tongue. 

The  Meteor  shewed  the  leaves  on  which  we  sate, 
And  Cythna's  glowing  arms,  and  the  thick  ties 
Of  her  soft  hair,  which  bent  with  gathered  weight 
My  neck  near  her's,  her  dark  and  deepening  eyes, 
Which,  as  twin  phantoms  of  one  star  that  lies 
O'er  a  dim  well,  move,  though  the  star  reposes, 


THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM.  135 

Swam  in  our  mute  and  liquid  ecstacies, 

Her  marble  brow,  and  eager  lips,  like  roses. 

With  their  own  fragrance  pale,  which  spring  but  half  undoses. 

The  meteor  to  its  far  morass  returned: 

The  beating  of  our  veins  one  interval 

Made  still ;  and  then  I  felt  the  blood  that  burned 

Within  her  frame,  mingle  with  mine, and  fall 

Around  my  heart  like  tire  ;  and  over  all 

A  mist  was  spread,  the  sickness  of  a  deep 

And  speechless  swoon  of  joy,  as  might  befall 

Two  disunited  spirits  when  they  leap 

In  union  from  this  earth's  obscure  and  fading  sleep. 

Was  it  one  moment  that  confounded  thus 

All  thought,  all  sense,  all  feeling,  into  one 

Unutterable  power,  which  shielded  us 

Even  from  our  own  cold  looks,  when  we  had  gone 

Into  a  wide  and  wild  oblivion 

Of  tumult  and  of  tenderness  ?  or  now 

Had  ages,  such  as  make  the  moon  and  sun, 

The  seasons  and  mankind,  their  changes  know, 

Left  fear  and  time  unfelt  by  us  alone  below  ? 

I  know  not.     What  are  kisses  whose  fire  clasps 

The  failing  heart  in  languishment,  or  limb 

Twined  within  limb?  or  the  quick  dying  gasps 

Of  the  life  meeting,  when  the  faint  eyes  swim 

Through  tears  of  a  wide  mist,  boundless  and  dim, 

In  one  caress?  What  is  the  strong  control 

W  hich  leads  the  heart  that  dizzy  steep  to  climb, 

Where  far  over  the  world  those  vapours  roll, 

Which  blend  two  restless  frames  in  one  reposing  soul? 

It  is  the  shadow  which  doth  float  unseen, 

But  not  unfelt,  o'er  blind  mortality, 

Whose  divine  darkness  fled  not  from  that  green 

And  lone  recess,  where  lapt  in  peace  did  lie 

Our  linked  frames,  till,  from  the  changing  sky, 

That  night  and  still  another  day  had  fled  ; 

And  then  I  saw  and  felt.     The  moon  was  high, 

And  clouds,  as  of  a  coming  storm,  were  spread 

Under  its  orb, — loud  winds  were  gathering  over  head. 

Cythna's  sweet  lips  seemed  lurid  in  the  moon, 
Her  fairest  limbs  with  the  night  wind  were  chill, 
And  her  dark  tresses  were  all  loosely  strewn 
O'er  her  pale  bosom  : — all  within  was  still, 
And  the  sweet  peace  of  joy  did  almost  fill 
The  depth  ot  her  unfathomable  look: — 


196  THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM. 

And  we  sate  calmly,  though  that  rocky  hill, 
The  waves  contending  in  its  caverns  strook, 
For  they  foreknew  the  storm,  and  the  grey  ruin  shook. 

There  we  unheeding  sate,  in  the  communion 

Of  interchanged  vows,  which,  with  a  rite 

Of  faith  most  sweet  and  sacred,  stamped  our  union.— 

Few  were  the  living  hearts  which  could  unite 

Like  ours,  or  celebrate  a  bridal  night 

With  such  close  sympathies,  for  they  had  sprung 

From  linked  youth,  and  from  the  gentle  might 

Of  earliest  love,  delayed  and  cherished  long, 

Which  common  hopes  and  fears  made,  like  a  tempest,  strong. 

And  such  is  Nature's  law  divine,  that  those 

Who  grow  together,  cannot  choose  but  love, 

If  faith  or  custom  do  not  interpose, 

Or  common  slavery  mar  what  else  might  move 

All  gentlest  thoughts  ;  as  in  the  sacred  grove 

Which  shades  the  springs  of  ./Ethiopian  Nile, 

That  living  tree,  which,  if  the  arrowy  dove 

Strike  with  her  shadow,  shrinks  in  fear  awhile, 

But  its  own  kindred  leaves  clasps  while  the  sun-beams  smile ; 

And  clings  to  them,  when  darkness  may  dissever 

The  close  caresses  of  all  duller  plants 

Which  bloom  on  the  wide  earth — thus  we  for  ever 

Were  linked,  for  love  had  nurst  us  in  the  haunts 

\\  here  knowledge  from  its  secret  source  enchants 

Young  hearts  with  the  fresh  music  of  its  springing, 

Ere  yet  its  gathered  flood  feeds  human  wants, 

As  the  great  Nile  feeds  Egypt:   ever  flinging 

Light  on  the  woven  boughs  which  o'er  its  waves  are  swinging. 

The  tones  of  Cythna's  voice  like  echoes  were 

Of  those  far  murmuring  streams  ;  they  rose  and  fell, 

Mixed  with  mine  own  in  the  tempestuous  air,— 

And  so  we  sate,  until  our  talk  betel 

Of  the  late  ruin,  swift  and  horrible, 

And  how  those  seeds  of  hope  might  yet  be  sown, 

Whose  fruit  is  evils  mortal  poison:  well 

For  us,  this  ruin  made  a  watch-tower  lone, 

But  Cythna's  eyes  looked  faint,  and  now  two  days  were  gone 

Since  she  had  food  : — therefore  I  did  awaken 
The  Tartar  steed,  who,  from  his  ebon  mane, 
Soon  as  the  clinging  slumbers  he  had  shaken, 
Bent  his  thin  head  to  seek  the  brazen  rein, 
Following  me  obediently ;   with  pain 
Of  heart,  so  deep  and  dread,  that  one  caress, 


THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM.  197 

When  lips  and  heart  refuse  to  part  again 

Till  they  have  told  their  fill,  could  scarce  express 

The  anguish  of  her  mute  and  fearful  tenderness. 

Cythna  heheld  me  part  as  I  bestrode 

That  willing  steed — the  tempest  and  the  night, 

Which  gave  my  path  its  safety  as  I  rode 

Down  the  ravine  of  rocks,  did  soon  unite 

The  darkness  and  the  tumult  of  their  might, 

Borne  on  all  winds. — Far  through  the  streaming  rain 

Floating  at  intervals  the  garments  white 

Of  Cythna  gleamed,  and  her  voice  once  again 

Came  to  me  on  the  gust,  and  soon  I  reached  the  plain. 

I  dreaded  n^t  the  tempest  nor  did  he 

Who  bore  me,  hut  his  eye-balls  wide  and  red 

Turned  on  the  lightning's  cleft  exultingly  ; 

And  when  the  earth  beneath  his  tameless  tread 

Shook  with  the  sullen  thunder,  he  would  spread 

His  nostrils  to  the  blast,  and  joyously 

Mock  the  fierce  peal  with  neighings  ; — thus  we  sped 

O'er  the  lit  plain,  and  soon  I  could  descry 

Where  death  and  Fire  had  gorged  the  spoil  of  victory. 

There  was  a  desolate  village  in  a  wood 

Whose  bloom  inwoven  leaves  now  scattering  fed 

The  hungry  storm  :  it  was  a  place  of  blood, 

A  heap  of  heartless  walls  : — the  flames  were  dead 

Within  those  dwellings  now,— the  life  had  fled 

From  all  those  corpses  now, — but  the  wide  sky 

Flooded  with  lightning,  was  ribbed  overhead 

By  the  black  rafters,  and  around  did  lie 

Women,  and  babes,  and  men,  slaughtered  confusedly. 

Beside  the  fountain  in  the  market  place 
Dismounting,  I  beheld  those  corpses  stare 
With  horny  eyes  upon  each  other's  face, 
And  on  the  earth  and  on  the  vacant  air, 
And  upon  me,  close  to  the  waters  where 
I  stooped  to  slake  my  thirst: — I  shrank  to  taste, 
For  tne  salt  bitterness  of  blood  was  there  ! 
But  tied  the  steed  beside,  and  sought  in  haste 
If  any  yet  survived  amid  that  ghastly  waste. 

No  living  thing  was  there  beside  one  woman, 
Whom  I  found  wandering  in  the  streets,  and  she 
Was  withered  from  a  likeness  of  aught  human 
Into  a  fiend,  by  some  strange  misery 
Soon  as  she  heard  my  steps  she  leaped  on  me, 
And  glued  her  burning  lips  to  mine,  and  laughed. 


193  THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM. 

With  a  loud,  long-,  and  frantic  laugh  of  glee, 
And  cried,  "  Now,  Mortal,  thou  hast  deeply  quaffed 
The  Plague's   blue  kiss.'s — soon  millions  shall  pledge   the 
draught! 

"  My  name  is  Pestilence —  this  bosom  dry 

Once  led  two  babes — a  sister  and  a  brother — ■ 

When  I  came  home,  one  in  the  blood  did  lie 

Of  three  death-wounds — the  flames  had  ate  the  other  ! 

Since  then  I  have  no  longer  been  a  mother, 

But  I  am  Pestilence ; — hither  and  thither 

1  flit  about,  that  I  may  slay  and  smother  ; — 

All  lips  which  I  have  kissed  must  surely  wither, 

But  Death's — if  thou  art  he,  we'll  go  to  work  together! 

"  What  seekest  thou  here  ?  the  moonlight  comes  in  flashes, — 

The  dew  is  rising  dankly  from  the  dell  ; 

'Twill  moisten  her  !  and  thou  shalt  see  the  gashes 

In  my  sweet  boy,  now  full  of  worms — but  tell 

First  what  thou  seek'st." — "  I  seek  for  food." — "'Tis  well, 

Thou  shalt  have  food  ;   Famine,  my  paramour, 

Waits  for  us  at  the  feast — cruel  and  fell 

Is  famine,  but  he  drives  not  from  his  door 

Those  whom  these  lips  have  kissed,  alone.    No  more,  no  more!" 

As  thus  she  spake,  she  grasped  me  with  the  strength 
Of  madness,  and  by  many  a  ruined  health 
She  led,  and  over  many  a  corpse : — at  length 
We  came  to  a  lone  hut,  where,  on  the  earth 
Which  made  its  floor,  she,  in  her  ghastly  mirth 
Gathering  from  all  those  homes  now  desolate, 
Had  piled  three  heaps  of  loaves,  making  a  dearth 
Among  the  dead — round  which  she  set  in  state 
A  ring  of  cold,  stiff  babes;  silent  and  stark  they  sate. 

She  leaped  upon  a  pile,  and  lifted  high 

Her  mad  looks  to  the  lightning,  and  cried  :  "  Eat ! 

Share  the  great  feast — to-morrow  we  must  die !" 

And  then  she  spurned  the  loaves  with  her  pale  feet, 

Towards  her  bloodless  guests  ; — that  sight  to  meet, 

Mine  eyes  and  my  heart  ached,  and,  but  that  she 

Who  loved  me,  did  with  absent  looks  defeat 

Despair,  I  might  have  raved  in  sympathy ; 

But  now  I  took  the  food  that  woman  offered  me. 

And,  vainly  having  with  her  madness  striven, 
If  I  might  win  her  to  return  witli  mc, 
Departed.     In  the  eastern  beams  of  Heaven 
The  lightning  now  grew  pallid — rapidly, 
As  by  the  shore  of  the  tempestuous  sea 


THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM.  m 

The  dark  steed  bore  me,  and  the  mountain  grey 

Soon  echoed  to  his  hoofs,  and  I  could  see 

Cythna  among  the  rocks,  where  she  alway 

Had  sate,  with  anxious  eyes  fixed  on  the  lingering  day. 

And  joy  was  ours  to  meet :  she  was  most  pale, 

Famished,  and  wet  and  weary,  so  I  cast 

My  arms  around  her,  lest  her  steps  should  fail 

As  to  our  home  we  went,  and  thus  embraced, 

Her  full  heart  seemed  a  deeper  joy  to  taste 

Than  e'er  the  prosperous  know  ;  the  steed  behind 

Trod  peacefully  along  the  mountain  waste: 

We  reached  our  home  ere  morning  could  unbind 

Night's  latest  veil,  and  on  our  bridal  couch  reclined. 

Her  chilled  heart  having  cherished  in  my  bosom, 
And  sweetest  kisses  past,  we  two  did  share 
Our  peaceful  meal : — as  an  autumnal  blossom 
Which  spreads  its  shrunk  leaves  in  the  sunny  air, 
After  cold  showers,  like  rainbows  woven  there, 
Thus  in  her  lips  and  cheeks  the  vital  spirit 
Mantled,  and  in  her  eyes,  an  atmosphere 
Of  health,  and  hope  ;  and  sorrow  languished  near  it, 
And  fear,  and  all  that  dark  despondence  doth  inherit. 


CANTO    VII. 

So  we  sate  joyous  as  the  morning  ray 

Which  fed  upon  the  wrecks  of  night  and  storm, 

Now  lingering  on  the  winds  ;  light  airs  did  play 

Among  the  dewy  weeds  ;  the  sun  was  warm, 

And  we  sate  linked  in  the  inwoven  charm 

Of  converse  and  caresses  sweet  and  deep, — 

Speechless  caresses,  talk  that  might  disarm 

Time,  though  he  wield  the  darts  of  death  and  sleep, 

And  those  thrice  mortal  barbs  in  his  own  poison  steep. 

I  told  her  of  my  sufferings  and  my  madness, 
And  how,  awakened  from  that  dreamy  mood 
By  Liberty's  uprise,  the  strength  of  gladness 
Came  to  my  spirit  in  my  solitude ; 
A.nd  all  that  now  I  was,  while  tears  pursued 
Each  other  down  her  fair  and  listening  cheek 
Fast  as  the  thoughts  which  fed  them,  like  a  flood 
From  sunbright  dales  ;  and  when  I  ceased  to  speak, 
Her  accents  soft  and  sweet  the  pausing  air  did  wake. 


200  THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM. 

She  told  me  a  strange  tale  of  strange  endurance, 

Like  broken  memories  of  many  a  heart 

Woven  into  one  ;  to  which  no  firm  assurance, 

So  wild  were  they,  could  her  own  faith  impart. 

She  said  that  not  a  tear  did  dare  to  start 

From  the  swoln  brain,  and  that  her  thoughts  were  firm 

When  from  all  mortal  hope  she  did  depart, 

Borne  by  those  slaves  across  the  Ocean's  term, 

And  that  she  reached  the  port  without  one  fear  infirm. 

One  was  she  among  many  there,  the  thralls 

Of  the  cold  tyrant's  cruel  lust :  and  they 

Laughed  mournfully  in  those  polluted  halls  ; 

But  she  was  calm  and  sad,  musing  alway 

On  loftiest  enterprise,  till  on  a  day 

The  Tyrant  heard  her  singing  to  her  lute 

A  wild,  and  sad,  and  spirit-thrilling  lay, 

Like  winds  that  die  in  wastes — one  moment  mute 

The  evil  thoughts  it  made,  which  did  his  breast  pollute. 

Even  when  he  saw  her  wondrous  loveliness, 
One  moment  to  great  Nature's  sacred  power 
He  bent,  and  was  no  longer  passionless; 
But,  when  he  bade  her  to  his  secret  bower 
Be  borne,  a  loveless  victim,  and  she  tore 
Her  locks  in  agony,  and  her  words  of  flame 
And  mightier  looks  availed  not;  then  he  bore 
Again  his  load  of  slavery,  and  became 
A  king,  a  heartless  beast,  a  pageant  and  a  name. 

She  told  me  what  a  loathsome  agony 
Is  that  when  selfishness  mocks  love's  delight, 
Foul  as  in  dreams  most  fearful  imagery 
To  dally  with  the  mowing  dead — that  night 
All  torture,  fear,  or  horror,  made  seem  light 
Which  the  soul  dreams  or  knows,  and  when  the  day 
Shone  on  her  awful  frenzy,  from  the  sight 
Where  like  a  Spirit  in  fleshy  chains  she  lay 
Struggling,  aghast  and  pale  the  Tyrant  fled  away. 

Her  madness  was  a  beam  of  light,  a  power 

Which  dawned  through  the  rent  soul ;  and  words  it  gave 

Gestures  and  looks,  such  as  in  whirlwinds  bore 

Which  might  not  be  withstood,  whence  none  could  save 

All  who  approached  their  sphere,  like  some  calm  wave 

Vexed  into  whirlpools  by  the  chasms  beneath  ; 

And  sympathy  made  each  attendant  slave 

Fearless  and  free,  and  they  began  to  breathe 

Deep  curses,  like  the  voice  of  flames  far  underneath. 


THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM.  201 

The  king  felt  pale  upon  his  noonday  throne  : 

At  night  two  slaves  he  to  her  chamber  sent,    ' 

One  was  a  green  and  wrinkled  eunuch,  grown 

From  human  shape  into  an  instrument 

Of  all  things  ill — distorted,  bowed  and  bent. 

The  other  was  a  wretch  from  infancy 

Made  dumb  by  poison  ;  who  nought  knew  or  meant 

But  to  obey:  from  the  fire-isles  came  he, 

A  diver  lean  and  strong,  of  Oman's  coral  sea. 

They  bore  her  to  a  bark,  and  the  swift  stroke 

Of  silent  rowers  clove  the  blue  moonlight  seas, 

Until  upon  their  path  the  morning  broke  ; 

They  anchored  then,  where,  be  there  calm  or  breeze, 

The  gloomiest  of  the  drear  Symplegades 

Shakes  with  the  sleepless  surge  ; — the  yEthiop  there 

Wound  his  long  arms  around  her,  and  with  knees 

Like  iron  clasped  her  feet,  and  plunged  with  her 

Among  the  closing  waves  out  of  the  boundless  air. 

"  Swift  as  an  eagle  stooping  from  the  plain 

Of  morning  light,  into  some  shadowy  wood 

He  plunged  through  the  green  silence  of  the  main 

Through  many  a  cavern  which  the  eternal  flood 

Had  scooped,  as  dark  lairs  for  its  monster  brood ; 

And  among  mighty  shapes  which  fled  in  wonder, 

And  among  mightier  shadows  which  pursued 

His  heels,  he  wound;  until  the  dark  rocks  under 

He  touched  a  golden  chain — a  sound  arose  like  thunder. 

"  A  stunning  clang  cf  massive  bolts  redoubling 

Beneath  the  deep — a  burst  of  waters  driven 

As  from  the  roots  of  Ihe  sea,  raging  and  bubbling  : 

And  in  that  roof  of  crags  a  space  was  riven 

Through  which  there  shone  the  emerald  beams  of  heaven, 

Shot  through  the  lines  of  many  waves  inwoven, 

Like  sunlight  through  acacia  woods  at  even, 

Through  which,  his  w^ay  the  diver  having  cloven, 

Past  like  a  spark  sent  up  out  of  a  burning  oven. 

"  And  then,"  she  said,  "  he  laid  me  in  a  cave 

Above  the  waters,  by  that  chasm  of  sea, 

A  fountain  round  and  vast,  in  which  the  wave 

Imprisoned,  boiled  and  leaped  perpetually, 

Down  which,  one  moment  resting,  he  did  flee, 

Winning  the  adverse  depth  ;  that  spacious  cell 

Like  an  upaithric  temple  wide  and  high, 

Whose  aery  dome  is  inaccessible,  [fell. 

Was  pierced  with  one  round  cleft  through  which  thesun-l 


202  THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM. 

"  Below,  the  fountain's  brink  was  richly  paver. 

With  the  deep's  wealth,  coral,  and  pearl,  and  sand 

Like  spangling  gold,  and  purple  shells  engraven 

With  mystic  legends  by  no  mortal  hand, 

Left,  there,  when,  thronging  to  the  moon's  command, 

The  gathering  waves  rent  the  Hesperian  gate 

Of  mountains,  and  on  such  bright  floor  did  stand 

Columns,  and  shapes  like  statues,  and  the  state 

Of  kingless  thrones,  which  Earth  did  in  her  heart  create. 

"  The  fiend  of  madness,  which  had  made  its  prey 

Of  my  poor  heart,  was  lulled  to  sleep  awhile  : 

There  was  an  interval  of  many  a  day, 

And  a  sea-eagle  brought  me  food  the  while, 

Whose  nest  was  built  in  that  untrodden  isle, 

And  who,  to  be  the  jailer,  had  been  taught, 

Of  that  strange  dungeon ;  as  a  friend  whose  smile 

Like  light  and  rest  at  morn  and  even  is  sought, 

That  wild  bird  was  to  me,  till  madness  misery  brought  ;— 

"  The  misery  of  a  madness  slow  and  creeping, 

Which  made  the  earth  seem  fire,  the  sea  seem  air, 

And  the  white  clouds  of  noon  which  oft  were  sleeping 

In  the  blue  heaven  so  beautiful  and  fair, 

Like  hosts  of  ghastly  shadows  hovering  there; 

And  the  sea-eagle  looked  a  fiend  who  bore 

Thy  mangled  limbs  for  food  ! — Thus  all  things  were 

Transformed  into  the  agony  which  I  wore, 

Even  as  a  poisoned  robe  around  my  bosom's  core. 

"Again  I  knew  the  day  and  night  fast  fleeing, 
The  eagle,  and  the  fountain,  and  the  air ; 
Another  frenzy  came — there  seemed  a  being 
Within  me — a  strange  load  my  heart  did  bear, 
As  if  some  living  thing  had  made  its  lair 
Even  in  the  fountains  of  my  life  : — a  long 
And  wondrous  vision  wrought  from  my  despair, 
Then  grew,  like  sweet  reality  among 
Dim  visionary  woes,  an  unreposing  throng. 

"  Methought  I  was  about  to  be  a  mother — 

Month  after  month  went  by,  and  still  1  dreamed 

That  we  should  soon  be  all  to  one  another, 

I  and  my  child  ;  and  still  new  pulses  seemed 

To  beat  bes-ide  my  heart,  and  still  I  deemed 

There  was  a  babe  within — and  when  the  rain 

Of  winter  through  the  rifted  cavern  streamed, 

Methought,  after  a  lapse  of  lingering  pain, 

I  saw  that  lovely  shape,  which  near  my  heart  had  lain. 


THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM.  203 

"  It  was  a  babe,  beautiful  from  its  birth, — 

It  was  like  thee,  dear  love !  its  eyes  were  thine, 

Its  brow,  its  lips,  and  so  upon  the  earth 

It  laid  its  ringers,  as  now  rest  on  mine 

Thine  own,  beloved  ! — 'twas  a  dream  dhine  ; 

Even  to  remember  how  it  fled,  how  swift, 

How  utterly,  might  make  the  heart  repine, — 

Though  'twas  a  dream." — Then  Cythna  did  uplift 

Her  looks  on  mine,  as  if  some  doubt  she  sought  to  shift:— 

A  doubt  which  would  not  flee,  a  tenderness 
Of  questioning  grief,  a  source  of  thronging  tears  ; 
Which,  having  past,  as  one  whom  sobs  oppress, 
She  spoke  : — "  Yes,  in  the  wilderness  of  years 
Her  memory,  aye,  like  a  green  home  appears, 
She  sucked  her  fill  even  at  this  breast,  sweet  love, 
For  many  months  I  had  no  mortal  fears : 
Methought  I  felt  her  lips  and  breath  approve, — 
It  was  a  human  thing  which  to  my  bosom  clove. 

I  watched  the  dawn  of  her  first  smiles,  and  soon 

When  zenith-stars  were  trembling  on  the  wave, 

Or  when  the  beams  of  the  invisible  moon, 

Or  sun,  from  many  a  prism  within  the  cave 

Their  gem-born  shadows  to  the  water  gave, 

Her  looks  would  hunt  them,  and  with  outspread  hand, 

From  the  swift  lights  which  might  that  fountain  pave, 

She  would  mark  one,  and  laugh,  when  that  command 

Slighting,  it  lingered  there,  and  could  not  understand. 

"  Methought  her  looks  began  to  talk  with  me  ; 
A  nd  no  articulate  sounds,  but  something  sweet 
Her  lips  would  frame, — so  sweet  it  could  not  be, 
That  it  was  meaningless  ;  her  touch  would  meet 
Mine,  and  our  pulses  calmly  flow  and  beat 
In  response  while  we  slept :  and  on  a  day 
When  I  was  happiest  in  that  strange  retreat, 
With  heaps  of  golden  shells  we  two  did  play, — 
Both  infants,  weaving  wings  for  time's  perpetual  way. 

"  Ere  night,  methought,  her  waning  eyes  were  grown 
Weary  with  joy,  and  tired  with  our  delight, 
We,  on  the  earth,  like  sister  twins  lay  down 
On  one  fair  mother's  bosom: — from  that  night 
She  fled  ; — like  those  illusions  clear  and  bright, 
Which  dwell  in  ,akes,  when  the  red  moon  on  high 
Pause  ere  it  wakens  tempest ; — and  her  flight, 
Though  'twas  the  death  of  brainless  phantasy, 
Yet  smote  my  lonesome  heart  more  than  all  misery. 
IS* 


204  THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM. 

"  It  seemed  that  in  the  dreary  night,  the  diver 

Who  brought  me  thither  came  again,  and  bore 

My  child  away.     I  saw  the  waters  quiver, 

When  he  so  swiftly  sunk,  as  once  before  : 

Then  morning  came — it  shone  even  as  of  yore, 

But  I  was  changed — the  very  life  was  gone 

Out  of  my  heart — I  wasted  more  and  more, 

Day  after  day,  and,  sitting  there  alone, 

Vexed  the  inconstant  waves  with  my  perpetual  moan. 

"  1  was  no  longer  mad,  and  yet  methought 
My  breasts  were  swoln  and  changed  : — in  every  vein 
The  blood  stood  still  one  moment,  while  that  thought 
Was  passing — with  a  gush  of  sickening  pain 
It  ebbed  even  to  its  withered  springs  again: 
When  my  wan  eyes  in  stern  resolve  I  turned 
From  that  strange  delusion,  which  would  fain 
Have  waked  the  dream  for  which  my  spirit  yearned 
With  more  than  human  love, — then  left  it  unreturned. 

''  So  now  ray  reason  was  restored  to  me, 

I  struggled  with  that  dream,  which,  like  a  beast 

Most  fierce  and  beauteous,  in  my  memory 

Had  made  its  lair,  and  on  my  heart  did  feast; 

But  all  that  cave  and  all  its  shapes  possest 

By  thoughts  which  could  not  fade,  renewed  each  one 

Some  smile,  some  look,  some  gesture,  which  had  blest 

Me  heretofore  :  I,  sitting  there  alone, 

Vexed  the  inconstant  waves  with  my  perpetual  moan. 

'Time  past,  I  know  not  whether  months  or  years  ; 

For  day  lior  night,  nor  change  of  seasons,  made 

Its  note,  but  thoughts  and  unavailing  tears  : 

And  I  became  at  last  even  as  a  shade, 

A  smoke,  a  cloud  on  which  the  winds  have  preyed, 

'Till  it  be  thin  as  air  ;  until,  one  even, 

A  Nautilus  upon  the  fountain  played, 

Spreading  his  azure  sail  where  breath  of  heaven 

Descended  not,  among  the  waves  and  whirlpools  driven. 

"  And  when  the  Eagle  came,  that  lovely  thing, 

Oaring  with  rosy  feet  its  silver  boat, 

Fled  near  me  as  for  shelter  ;  on  slow  wing, 

The  Eagle,  hovering  o'er  his  prey,  did  float ; 

But,  when  he  saw  that  I  with  fear  did  note 

His  purpose,  proffering  my  own  food  to  him, 

The  eager  plumes  subsided  on  his  throat — 

He  came  where  that  bright  child  of  sea  did  swim, 

And  o'er  it  cast  in  peace  his  shadow  broad  and  dim. 


THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM.  205 

"  This  wakened  me  ;  it  gave  me  human  strength, 

And  hope,  I  know  not  whence  or  wherefore,  rose, 

But  I  resumed  my  ancient  powers  at  length  ; 

My  spirit  felt  again  like  one  of  those, 

Like  thine,  whose  fate  it  is  to  make  the  woes 

Of  human  kind  their  prey — what  was  this  cave  ? 

Its  deep  foundation  no  firm  purpose  knows, 

Immutable,  resistless,  strong  to  save, 

Like  mind  while  yet  it  mocks  the  all-devouring  grave. 

"  And  where  was  Laon  ?  might  my  heart  be  dead, 

While  that  far  dearer  heart  could  move  and  be  1 

Or  whilst  over  the  earth  the  pall  was  spread, 

Which  I  had  sworn  to  rend  ?     I  might  be  free, 

Could  I  but  win  that. friendly  bird  to  me, 

To  bring  me  ropes ;  and  long  in  vain  I  sought 

By  intercourse  of  mutual  imagery 

Of  objects,  if  such  aid  he  could  be  taught ; 

But  fruit,  and  flowers,  and  boughs,  yet  never  ropes  he  brought 

"  We  live  in  our  own  world,  and  mine  was  made 

From  glorious  phantasies  of  hope  departed: 

Aye,  we  are  darkened  with  their  floating  shade, 

Or  cast  a  lustre  on  them. — Time  imparted 

Such  power  to  me,  I  became  fearless-hearted; 

My  eye  and  voice  grew  firm,  calm  was  my  mind, 

And  piercing,  like  the  morn,  now  it  has  darted 

Its  lustre  on  all  hidden  things,  behind 

Yon  dim  and  fading  clouds  which  load  the  weary  wind. 

"  My  mind  became  the  book  through  which  I  grew 

Wise  in  all  human  wisdom,  and  its  cave, 

Which  like  a  mine  I  rifled  through,  and  through 

To  me  the  keeping  of  its  secrets  gave — 

One  mind,  the  type  of  all,  the  moveless  wave 

Whose  calm  reflects  all  moving  things  that  are, 

Necessity,  and  love,  and  life,  the  grave, 

And  sympathy,  fountains  of  hope  and  fear  ; 

Justice,  and  truth,  and  time,  and  the  world's  natural  sphere. 

"  And  on  the  sand,  would  I  make  signs  to  range 

These  woofs,  as  they  were  woven,  of  my  thought ; 

Clear  elemental  shapes,  whose  smallest  change 

A  subtler  language  within  language  wrought: 

The  key  of  truths  which  once  were  dimly  taught 

In  old  Crotona,  and  sweet  melodies 

Of  love,  in  that  lone  solitude  I  caught 

From  mine  own  voice  in  dream,  when  thy  dear  eyes 

Shone  through  my  sleep,  and  did  that  utterance  harmonise 


206  THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM. 

"  Thy  songs  were  winds  whereon  I  fled  at  will 

As  in  a  winged  chariot  o'er  the  plain 

Of  crystal  youth  ;  and  thou  wert  there  to  fill 

My  heart  with  joy,  and  there  we  sate  again 

On  the  grey  margin  of  the  glimmering  main, 

Happy  as  then  but  wiser  far,  for  we 

Smiled  on  the  flowery  grave  in  which  were  lain 

Fear,  Faith,  and  Slavery  ;  and  mankind  was  free, 

Equal,  and  pure,  and  wise,  in  wisdom's  prophecy. 

"  For  to  my  will  my  fancies  were  as  slaves 

To  do  their  sweet  and  subtle  ministries ; 

And  oft  from  that  bright  fountain's  shadowy  waves 

They  would  make  human  throngs  gather  and  rise 

To  combat  with  my  overflowing  eyes, 

And  voice  made  deep  with  passion — thus  I  grew 

Familiar  with  the  shock  and  the  surprise 

And  war  of  earthly  minds  from  which  I  drew 

The  power  which  has  been  mine  to  frame  their  thoughts  anew. 

"  And  thus  my  prison  was  the  populous  earth, 
Where  I  saw — even  as  misery  dreams  of  morn 
Before  the  east  has  given  its  glory  birth — 
Religion's  pomp  made  desolate  by  the  scorn 
Of  Wisdom's  faintest  smile,  and  thrones  uptorn, 
And  dwellings  of  mild  people  interspersed 
With  undivided  fields  of  ripening  corn, 
And  love  made  free, — a  hope  which  we  have  nurst 
Even  with  our  blood  and  tears, — until  its  glory  burst. 

"  All  is  not  lost !     There  is  some  recompense 
For  hope  whose  fountain  can  be  thus  profound, 
Even  throned  Evil's  splendid  impotence, 
Girt  by  its  hell  of  power,  the  secret  sound 
Of  hymns  to  truth  and  freedom — the  dread  bound 
Of  life  and  death  past  fearlessly  and  well, 
Dungeons  wherein  the  high  resolve  is  found, 
Racks  which  degraded  woman's  greatness  tell, 
And  what  may  else  be  good  and  irresistible. 

"  Such  are  the  thoughts  which,  like  the  fires  that  flare 

In  storm-encompassed  isles,  we  cherish  yet 

In  this  dark  ruin — such  were  mine  even  there  : 

As  in  its  sleep  some  odorous  violet, 

While  yet  its  leaves  with  nightly  dews  are  wet, 

Breathes  in  prophetic  dreams  of  days  uprise, 

Or,  as  ere  Scythian  frost  in  fear  has  met 

Spring's  messengers  descending  from  the  skies, 

The  buds  foreknow  their  life — this  hope  must  ever  rise. 


THE  REVOLT  OE  ISLAM.  207 

"  So  years  had  past,  when  sudden  earthquake  rent 

The  depth  of  ocean,  and  the  cavern  crackt 

With  sound,  as  if  the  world's  wide  continent 

Had  fallen  in  universal  ruin  wrackt; 

And  through  the  cleft  streamed  in  one  cataract 

The  stifling  waters: — when  I  woke,  the  flood, 

Whose  banded  waves  that  crystal  cave  had  sacked, 

Was  ebbing  round  me,  and  my  bright  abode 

Before  me  yawned — a  chasm  desert,  and  bare,  and  broad. 

"Above  me  was  the  sky,  beneath  the  sea; 
I  stood  upon  a  point  of  shattered  stone, 
And  heard  loose  rocks  rushing  tumultuously 
With  splash  and  shock  into  the  deep — anon 
All  ceased,  and  there  was  silence  wide  and  lone. 
I  felt  that  I  was  free !     The  Ocean-spray 
Quivered  beneath  my  feet,  the  broad  Heaven  shone 
Around,  and  in  my  hair  the  winds  did  play, 
Lingering  as  they  pursued  their  unimpeded  way. 

"  My  spirit  moved  upon  the  sea-like  wind 

Which  round  some  thymy  cape  will  lag  and  hover 

Though  it  can  wake  the  still  cloud,  and  unbind 

The  strength  of  tempest :  day  was  almost  over, 

When  through  the  fading  light  I  could  discover 

A  ship  approaching — its  white  sails  were  fed 

With  the  north  wind — its  moving  shade  did  cover 

The  twilight  deep: — the  mariners  in  dread 

Cast  anchor  when  they  saw  new  rocks  around  them  spread. 

"  And  when  they  saw  one  sitting  on  a  crag, 

They  sent  a  boat  to  me:— the  sailors  rowed 

In  awe  through  many  a  new  and  fearful  jag 

Of  overhanging  rock,  through  which  there  flowed 

The  foam  of  streams  that  cannot  make  abode. 

They  came  and  questioned  me,  but,  when  they  heard 

My  voice,  they  became  silent,  and  they  stood 

And  moved  as  men  in  whom  new  love  had  stirred 

Deep  thoughts :  so  to  the  ship  we  pass'd  without  a  word. 


CANTO    VIII. 

"  I  sate  beside  the  steersman  then,  and,  gazing 
Upon  the  west,  cried,  '  Spread  the  sails!  behold  ! 
The  sinking  moon  is  like  a  watch-tower  blazing 
Over  the  mountains  yet ; — the  City  of  Gold 
Yon  Cape  alone  does  from  the  sight  withhold  ; 


208  THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM. 

The  stream  is  fleet — the  north  breathes  steadily 
Beneath  the  stars;  they  tremble  with  the  cold! 
Ye  cannot  rest  upon  the  dreary  sea  ;  — 
Haste,  haste  to  the  warm  home  of  happier  destiny  !' 

,,  The  Mariners  obeyed — the  Captain  stood 

Aloof,  and,  whispering  to  the  Pilot,  said, 

'  Alas,  alas  !  I  fear  we  are  pursued 

By  wicked  ghosts :  a  Phantom  of  the  Dead, 

The  night  before  we  sailed,  came  to  my  bed 

In  dream  like  that !'     The  Pilot  then  replied, 

'  It  cannot  be — she  is  a  human  Maid — 

Her  low  voice  makes  you  weep — she  is  some  bride, 

Or  daughter  of  high  birth — she  can  be  nought  beside. 

"  We  past  the  islets,  borne  by  wind  and  stream, 

And  as  we  sailed,  the  Mariners  came  near, 

And  thronged  around  to  listen ; — in  the  gleam 

Of  the  pale  moon  I  stood,  as  one  whom  fear 

May  not  attaint,  and  my  calm  voice  did  rear  ; 

'  Ye  all  are  human — yon  broad  moon  gives  light 

To  millions  who  the  self-same  likeness  wear. 

Even  while  I  speak — beneath  this  very  night, 

Their  thoughts  flow  on  like  ours,  in  sadness  or  delight. 

" '  What  dream  ye  ?     Your  own  hands  have  built  a  home, 

Even  for  yourselves  on  a  beloved  shore ; 

For  some,  fond  eyes  are  pining  till  they  come, 

How  they  will  greet  him  when  his  toils  are  o'er, 

And  laughing  babes  rush  from  the  well-known  door! 

Is  this  your  care  ?  ye  toil  for  your  own  good — 

Ye  feel  and  think— has  some  immortal  power 

Such  purposes  1  or  in  a  human  mood, 

Dream  ye  some  Power  thus  builds  for  man  in  solitude  ? 

"  '  What  is  that  Power  ?     Ye  mock  yourselves,  and  give 

A  human  heart  to  what  ye  cannot  know: 

As  if  the  cause  of  life  could  think  and  live  ! 

'Twere  as  if  man's  own  works  should  feel,  and  shew 

The  hopes,  and  fears,  and  thoughts,  from  which  they  flow, 

And  he  be  like  to  them.     Lo  !   Plague  is  free 

To  waste,  Blight,  Poison,  Earthquake,  Hail,  and  Snow, 

Disease,  and  Want,  and  worse  Necessity 

Of  hate  and  ill,  and  Pride,  and  Fear,  and  Tyranny. 

"  '  What  is  that  Power  ?  Some  moon-struck  sophist  stood 
Watching  the  shade  from  his  own  soul  upthrown 
Fill  Heaven  and  darken  Earth,  and  in  such  mood 
The  Form  he  saw  and  worshipped  was  his  own, 
His  likeness  in  the  world's  vast  minor  shewn  ; 


THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM.  209 

And  'twere  an  innocent  dream,  but  that  a  faith, 
Nursed  by  fear's  dew  of  poison,  grows  thereon, 
And  that  men  say,  that  Power  has  chosen  Death 
On  all  who  scorn  its  laws,  to  wreak  immortal  wrath. 

"  'Men  say  that  they  themselves  have  heard  and  seen, 

Or  known  from  others  who  have  known  such  things, 

A  Shade,  a  Form,  which  Earth  and  Heaven  between 

Wields  an  invisible  rod — that  Priests  and  Kings, 

Custom,  domestic  sway,  aye,  all  that  brings 

Man's  free  born  soul  beneath  the  oppressor's  heel, 

Are  his  strong  ministers,  and  that  the  stings 

Of  death  will  make  the  wise  his  vengeance  feel, 

Though  truth  and  virtue  arm  their  hearts  with  tenfold  s  teel, 

"  'And  it  is  said,  this  Power  will  punish  wrong; 
Yes,  add  despair  to  crime,  and  pain  to  pain  ! 
And  deepest  hell,  and  deathless  snakes  among, 
Will  bind  the  wretch  on  whom  is  fixed  a  stain, 
Which  like  a  plague,  a  burthen,  and  a  bane, 
Clung  to  him  while  he  lived ; — for  love  and  hate, 
Virtue  and  vice,  they  say  are  difference  vain — 
The  will  of  strength  is  right — this  human  state 
Tyrants,  that  they  may  rule,  with  lies,  thus  desolate. 

11  'Alas,  what  strength  ?    Opinion  is  more  frail 
Than  yon  dim  cloud  now  fading  on  the  moon 
Even  while  we  gaze,  though  it  awhile  avail 
To  hide  the  orb  of  truth— and  every  throne 
Of  Earth  or  Heaven,  though  shadow  rest  thereon, 
One  shape  of  many  names  : — for  this  ye  plough 
The  barren  waves  of  ocean  ;  hence  each  one 
Is  slave  or  tyrant ;  all  betray  and  bow, 
Command,  or  kill,  or  fear,  or  wreak,  or  suffer  woe. 

"  'Its  names  are  each  a  sign  which  maketh  holy 
All  power — aye,  the  ghost,  the  dream,  the  shade, 
Of  power — lust,  falsehood,  hate,  and  pride,  and  folly 
The  pattern  whence  all  fraud  and  wrong  is  made, 
A  law  to  which  mankind  has  been  betrayed; 
And  human  love  is  as  the  name  well  known 
Of  a  dear  mother,  whom  the  murderer  laid 
In  bloody  grave,  and,  into  darkness  thrown, 
Gathered  her  wildcred  babes  around  him  as  his  own 

"'0  love     who  to  the  hearts  of  wandering  men 
Art  as  the  calm  to  Ocean's  weary  waves! 
Justice,  or  truth,  or  joy  !  thou  only  can 
From  slavery  and  religion's  labyrinth  caves 


210  THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM. 

Guide  us,  as  one  clear  star  the  seamen  saves. 

To  give  to  all  an  equal  share  of  good, 

To  track  the  steps  of  freedom,  though  through  graves 

She  pass,  to  suffer  all  in  patient  mood,  [blood. 

To  weep  for  crime,  though  stained  with  thy  friend's  dearest 

'"To  feel  the  peace  of  self-contentment's  lot, 

To  own  all  sympathies,  and  outrage  none, 

And,  in  the  inmost  bowers  of  sense  and  thought, 

Until  life's  sunny  day  is  quite  gone  down, 

To  sit  and  smile  with  Joy,  or,  not  alone, 

To  kiss  salt  tears  from  the  worn  cheek  of  Woe; 

To  live,  as  if  to  love  and  live  were  one, — 

This  is  not  faith  or  law,  nor  those  who  bow 

To  thrones  on  Heaven  or  Earth,  such  destiny  may  know. 

"'  But  children  near  their  parents  tremble  now, 

Because  they  must  obey — one  rules  another, 

And  as  one  Power  rules  both  high  and  low, 

So  man  is  made  the  captive  of  his  brother, 

And  Hate  is  throned  on  high  with  Fear  her  mother 

Above  the  Highest — and  those  fountain- ;ells, 

Whence  love  yet  flowed  when  faith  had  choked  all  other, 

Are  darkened — Woman,  as  the  bond-slave,  dwells 

Of  man  a  slave  ;  and  life  is  poisoned  in  its  wells. 

" '  Man  seeks  for  gold  in  mines,  that  he  may  weave 

A  lasting  chain  for  his  own  slavery ; — 

In  fear  and  restless  care  that  he  may  live 

He  toils  for  others,  who  must  ever  be 

The  joyless  thralls  of  like  captivity; 

He  murders,  for  his  chiefs  delight  in  ruin  ; 

He  builds  the  altar,  that  its  idol's  fee 

May  be  his  very  blood  ;  he  is  pursuing, 

O  blind  and  willing  wretch  !  his  own  obscure  undoing. 

"  '  Woman  ! — she  is  his  slave;  she  has  become 

A  thing  I  weep  to  speak — the  child  of  scorn, 

The  outcast  of  a  desolated  home. 

Falsehood,  and  fear,  and  toil,  like  waves  have  worn 

Channels  upon  her  cheek,  which  smiles  adorn, 

As  calm  decks  the  false  Ocean : — well  ye  know 

What  Woman  is,  for  none  of  Woman  born 

Can  choose  but  drain  the  bitter  dregs  of  woe, 

Which  ever  from  the  oppressed  to  the  oppressors  flow. 

"  '  This  need  not  be  ;  ye  might  arise,  and  will 

That  gold  should  lose  its  power,  and  thrones  their  glory  t 

That  love,  which   lone  may  bind,  be  free  to  fill 

The  world  like  light;  and  evil  faith,  grown  hoary 


THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM.  211 

With  crime,  be  quenched  and  die. — Yon  promontory 
Even  now  eclipses  the  descending  moon  ! — 
Dungeons  and  palaces  are  transitory — 
High  temples  fade  like  vapour — Man  alone 
Remains,  whose  will  has  power  when  all  beside  is  gone. 

"  '  Let  all  be  free  and  equal ! — From  your  hearts 

I  feel  an  echo ;  through  my  inmost  frame 

Like  sweetest  sound,  seeking  its  mate,  it  darts— 

Whence  come  ye,  friends  ?  Alas,  I  cannot  name 

All  that  I  read  of  sorrow,  toil,  and  shame, 

On  your  worn  faces;  as  in  legends  old 

Which  make  immortal  the  disastrous  fame 

Of  conquerors  and  impostors  false  and  bold, 

The  discord  of  your  hearts  I  in  your  looks  behold. 

" '  Whence  come  ye,  friends  ?  from  pouring  human  blood 
Forth  on  the  earth  ?  or  bring  ye  steel  and  gold, 
That  Kings  may  dupe  and  slay  the  multitude  ? 
Or  from  the  famished  poor,  pale,  weak,  and  cold, 
Bear  ye  the  earnings  of  their  toil  ?  Unfold  ! 
Speak!  are  your  hands  in  slaughter's  sanguine  hue 
Stained  freshly?  have  your  hearts  in  guile  grown  old? 
Know  yourselves  thus?  ye  shall  be  pure  as  dew, 
And  I  will  be  a  friend  and  sister  unto  you. 

" '  Disguise  it  not — we  have  one  human  heart — 
All  mortal  thoughts  confess  a  common  home  : 
Blush  not  for  what  may  to  thyself  impart 
Stains  of  inevitable  crime:  the  doom 
Is  this,  which  has,  or  may,  or  must,  become 
Thine,  and  all  human  kind's.     Ye  are  the  spoil 
Which  Time  thus  marks  for  the  devouring  tomb, 
Thou  and  thy  thoughts,  and  they,  and  all  the  toil 
Wherewith  ye  twine  the  rings  of  life's  perpetual  coil. 

" '  Disguise  it  not — ye  blush  for  what  ye  hate,  „ 

And  Enmity  is  sister  unto  Shame ; 

Look  on  your  mind — it  is  the  book  of  fate — 

Ah !  it  is  dark  with  many  a  blazoned  name 

Of  misery — all  are  mirrors  of  the  same  ; 

But  the  dark  fiend  who,  with  his  iron  pen 

Dipped  in  scorn's  fiery  poison,  makes  his  fame 

Enduring  there,  would  o'er  the  heads  of  men 

Pass  harmless,  if  they  scorned  to  make  their  hearts  his  den. 

'"Yes,  it  is  Hate,  that  shapeless  fiendly  thing 
Of  many  names,  all  evil,  some  divine, 
Whom  self-conternpt  arms  with  a  mortal  sting; 
Which,  when  the  heart  its  snaky  folds  entwine 
19 


212  THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM. 

Is  wasted  quite,  and  when  it  doth  repine 

To  gorge  such  bitter  prey,  on  all  beside 

It  turns  with  ninefold  rage,  as  with  its  twine 

When  Amphisbaena  some  fair  bird  has  tied, 

Soo-n  o'er  the  putrid  mass  he  threats  on  every  side. 

"'  Reproach  not  thine  own  soul,  hut  know  thyself, 

Nor  hate  another's  crime,  nor  loathe  thine  own. 

It  is  the  dark  idolatry  of  self, 

Which,  when  our  thoughts  and  actions  once  are  gone, 

Demands  that  man  should  weep,  and  bleed,  and  groan : 

O  vacant  expiation  !  be  at  rest. — 

The  past  is  death's,  the  future  is  thine  own  ; 

And  love  and  joy  can  make  the  foulest  breast 

A  paradise  of  flowers,  where  peace  might  build  her  nest." 

" '  Speak,  thou  !  whence  come  ye  V — A  Youth  made  reply 

'  Wearily,  wearily  o'er  the  boundless  deep 

We  sail : — Thou  readest  well  the  misery 

Told  in  these  faded  eyes,  but  much  doth  sleep 

Within,  which  there  the  poor  heart  loves  to  keep, 

Or  dare  not  write  on  the  dishonoured  brow  ; 

Even  from  our  childhood  have  we  learned  to  steep 

The  bread  of  slavery  in  the  tears  of  woe. 

And  never  dreamed  of  hope  or  refuge  until  now. 

"  '  Yes — I  must  speak — my  secret  would  have  perished 

Even  with  the  heart  it  wasted,  as  a  brand 

Fades  in  the  dying  flame  whose  life  it  cherished, 

But  that  no  human  bosom  can  withstand 

Thee,  wondrous  Lady,  and  the  wild  command 

Of  thy  keen  eyes : — yes,  we  are  wretched  slaves, 

Who  from  their  wonted  loves  and  native  land 

Are  reft,  ai.d  bear  o'er  the  dividing  waves 

The  unregarded  prey  of  calm  and  happy  graves. 

«  <  we  drag  afar  from  pastoral  vales  the  fairest 

Among  the  daughters  of  those  mountains  lone  ; 

We  drag  them  there,  where  all  things  best  and  rarest 

Are  stained  and  trampled  : — years  have  come  and  gone 

Since,  like  the  ship  which  bears  me,  I  have  known 

No  thought ; — but  now  the  eyes  of  one  dear  Maid 

On  mine  with  light  of  mutual  love  have  shone — 

She  is  my  life, — I  am  but  as  the  shade 

Of  her, — a  smoke  sent  up  from  ashes,  soon  to  fade. 

"  '  For  she  must  perish  in  the  tyrant's  hall — 
Alas,  alas  !'   He  ceased,  and  by  the  sail 
Sate  cowering — but  his  sobs  were  heard  by  all, 
And  still  before  the  ocean  and  the  gale 


THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM.  213 

The  ship  fled  fast  'till  the  stars  *gan  to  fail. 
All  round  me  gathered  with  mute  countenance, 
The  seamen  gazed,  the  Pilot,  worn  and  pale 
With  toil,  the  Captain  with  grey  locks,  whose  glance 
Met  mine  in  restless  awe — they  stood  as  in  a  trance. 

"  '  Recede  not !  pause  not  now!  thou  art  grown  old. 

But  Hope  will  make  thee  young  for  Hope  and  Youth 

Are  children  of  one  mother,  even  Love — behold  ! 

The  eternal  stars  gaze  on  us ! — is  the  truth 

Within  your  soul  ?  care  for  your  own,  or  ruth 

For  other's  sufferings?  do  ye  thirst  to  bear 

A  heart  which  not  the  serpent  custom's  tooth 

May  violate  ? — Be  free  !  and  even  here  [swear  !' 

Swear  to  be  firm  till  death  !  They  cried,  '  We  swear  !  we 

"  The  very  darkness  shook,  as  with  a  blast 

Of  subterranean  thunder  at  the  cry  ; 

The  hollow  shore  its  thousand  echoes  cast 

Into  the  night,  as  if  the  sea,  and  sky, 

Atid  earth,  rejoiced  with  new-born  liberty, 

For  in  that  name  they  swore  !  Bolts  were  undrawn, 

And  on  the  deck  with  unaccustomed  eye 

The  captives  gazing  stood,  and  every  one 

Shrank  as  the  inconstant  torch  upon  her  countenance  shone. 

"  They  were  earth's  purest  children,  young  and  fair, 

With  eyes  the  shrine  of  unawakened  thought, 

And  brows  as  bright  as  spring  or  morning,  ere 

Dark  time  had  there  its  evil  legend  wrought 

In  characters  of  cloud  which  wither  not — 

The  change  was  like  a  dream  to  them  ;  but  soon 

They  knew  the  glory  of  their  altered  lot, 

In  the  bright  wisdom  of  youth's  breathless  noon, 

Sweet  talk,  and  smiles,  and  sighs,  all  bosoms  did  attune. 

"  But  one  was  mute  :  her  cheeks  and  lips  most  fair, 
Changing  their  hue,  like  lilies  newly  blown 
Beneath  a  bright  acacia's  shadowy  hair, 
Waved  by  the  wind  amid  the  sunny  noon, 
Shewed  that  her  soul  was  quivering  ;  and  full  soon 
That  Youth  arose,  and  breathlessly  did  look 
On  her  and  me,  as  for  some  speechless  boon : 
I  smiled,  and  both  their  hands  in  mine  I  took, 
And  felt  a  soft  delight  from  what  their  spirits  shook. 


214  THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM. 

CANTO    IX. 

"  That  night  we  anchored  in  a  woody  hay, 

And  sleep  no  more  around  us  dared  to  hover 

Than,  when  all  doubt  and  fear  has  past  away, 

It  shades  the  couch  of  some  unresting  lover, 

Whose  heart  is  now  at  rest;  thus  night  past  over 

In  mutual  joy  : — around,  a  forest  grew 

Of  poplars  and  dark  oaks,  whose  shade  did  cover 

The  waning  stars,  prankt  in  the  waters  blue, 

And  trembled  in  the  wind  which  from  the  morning  flew. 

"The  joyous  mariners,  and  each  free  maiden, 

Now  brought  from  the  deep  forest  many  a  bough, 

With  woodland  spoil  most  innocently  laden  j 

Soon  wreathes  of  budding  foliage  seemed  to  flow 

Over  the  mast  and  sails  ;  the  stern  and  prow 

Were  canopied  with  blooming  boughs, — the  while 

On  the  slant  sun's  path  o'er  the  waves  we  go 

Rejoicing,  like  the  dwellers  of  an  isle 

Doomed  to  pursue  those  waves  that  cannot  cease  to  smile. 

"  The  many  ships,  spotting  the  dark  blue  deep 

With  snowy  sails,  fled  fast  as  ours  came  nigh, 

In  fear  and  wonder ;  and  on  every  steep 

Thousands  did  gaze :  they  heard  the  startling  cry, 

Like  earth's  own  voice  lifted  unconquerably 

To  all  her  children,  the  unbounded  mirth, 

The  glorious  joy  of  thy  name — Liberty  ! 

They  heard! — As  o'er  the  mountains  of  the  earth 

From  peak  to  peak  leap  on  the  ocams  of  morning's  birth. 

"  So  from  that  cry,  over  the  boundless  hills, 

Sudden  was  caught  one  universal  sound, 

Like  a  volcano's  voice,  whose  thunder  fills 

llemotest  skies, — such  glorious  madness  found 

A  path  through  human  hearts  with  stream  which  drowned 

Its  struggling  fears  and  cares,  dark  custom's  brood ; 

They  knew  not  whence  it  came,  but  felt  around 

A  wide  contagion  poured — they  called  aloud 

On  Liberty — that  name  lived  on  the  sunny  flood. 

"  We  reached  the  port — alas  !  from  many  spirits 

The  wisdom  which  had  waked  that  cry  was  fled, 

Like  the  brief  glory  which  dark  Heaven  inherits 

From  the  false  dawn,  which  fades  ere  it  is  spread, 

Upon  the  night's  devouring  darkness  shed  : 

Yet  soon  bright  day  will  burst — even  like  a  chasm 

Of  fire  to  burn  the  shrouds,  outworn  and  dead, 

Which  wrap  the  world  ;  a  wide  enthusiasm, 

To  cleanse  the  fevered  world  as  with  an  earthquake's  spasm  1 


THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM.  215 

"  I  walked  through  the  great  City  then,  but  free 

From  shame  or  fear.     Those  toil-worn  Mariners 

And  happy  Maidens  did  encompass  me  ; 

And,  like  a  subterranean  wind  that  stirs 

Some  forest  among  caves,  the  hopes  and  fears 

From  every  human  soul,  a  murmur  strange 

Made  as  I  past:  and  many  wept  with  tears 

Of  joy  and  awe,  and  winged  thoughts  did  range, 

And  half-extinguished  words,  which  prophesied  of  change. 

"  For,  with  strong  speech  I  tore  the  veil  that  hid 
Nature,  and  Truth,  and  Liberty,  and  Love, — 
As  one  who  from  some  mountain's  pyramid, 
Points  to  the  unrisen  sun  I — The  shades  approve 
His  truth,  and  flee  from  every  stream  and  grove. 
Thus,  gentle  thoughts  did  many  a  bosom  fill, — 
Wisdom  the  mail  of  tried  affections  wove 
For  many  a  heart,  and  tameless  scorn  of  ill 
Thrice  steep'd  in  molten  steel  the  unconquerable  will. 

"  Some  said  I  was  a  maniac  wild  and  lost ; 
Some,  that  I  scarce  had  risen  from  the  grave, 
The  Prophet's  virgin  bride,  a  heavenly  ghost : — 
Some  said,  I  was  a  fiend  from  my  weird  cave, 
Who  had  stolen  human  shape,  and  o'er  the  wave, 
The  forest,  and  the  mountain,  came  ; — some  said 
I  was  the  child  of  God,  sent  down  to  save 
Women  from  bonds  and  death,  and  on  my  head 
The  burthen  of  their  sins  would  frightfully  be  laid. 

"  But  soon  my  human  words  found  sympathy 

In  human  hearts  ;  the  purest  and  the  best, 

As  friend  with  friend  made  common  cause  with  me, 

And  they  were  few,  but  resolute;  the  rest, 

Ere  yet  success  the  enterprise  had  blest, 

Leagued  with  me  in  their  hearts : — their  meals,  their  slumber, 

Their  hourly  occupations,  were  possest 

By  hopes  which  I  had  arm'd  to  overnumber     [encumber. 

Those  hosts  of  meaner  cares,  which  life's  strong  wings 

"  But  chiefly  women,  whom  my  voice  did  waken 
From  their  cold,  careless,  willing  slavery, 
Sought  me  :  one  truth  their  dreary  prison  has  shaken, — 
They  looked  around,  and  lo  !  they  became  free ! 
Their  many  tyrants  sitting  desolately 
In  slave -deserted  halls,  could  none  restrain; 
For  wrath's  red  fire  had  withered  in  the  eye, 
Whose  lightning  once  was  death, — nor  fear,  nor  gain, 
Could  tempt  one  captive  now  to  lock  another's  chain. 
19* 


216  THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM. 

"  Those,  who  were  sent  to  bind  me,  wept,  and  fel 

Their  minds  outsoar  the  bonds  which  clasped  them  round, 

Even  as  a  waxen  shape  may  waste  and  melt 

In  the  whue  furnace ;  and  a  visioned  swound, 

A  pause  of  hope  and  awe,  the  City  bound, 

Which,  like  the  silence  of  a  tempest's  birth, 

When  in  its  awful  shadow  it  has  wound 

The  sun,  ine  wind,  the  ocean,  and  the  earth, 

Hung  terrible,  ere  yet  the  lightnings  have  leapt  forth. 

"  Like  clouds  inwoven  in  the  silent  sky, 

By  winds  from  distant  regions  meeting  there, 

In  the  high  name  of  truth  and  liberty, 

Around  the  City  millions  gathered  were, 

By  hopes  which  sprang  from  many  a  hidden  lair; 

Words,  which  the  lore  of  truth  in  hues  of  grace 

Arrayed,  thine  own  wrild  songs  which  in  the  air 

Like  homeless  odours  floated,  and  the  name 

Of  thee,  and  many  a  tongue  which  thou  hadst  dipped  in  flame. 

"The  Tyrant  knew  his  power  was  gone,  but  Fear, 

The  nurse  of  Vengeance,  bade  him  wait  the  event — 

That  perfidy  and  custom,  gold  and  prayer, 

And  whatsoe'er  when  force  is  impotent, 

To  fraud  the  sceptre  of  the  world  has  lent, 

Might,  as  he  judged,  confirm  his  failing  sway. 

Therefore  throughout  the  streets  the  Priests  he  sent 

To  curse  the  rebels. — To  their  gods  did  they 

For  Earthquake,  Plague,  and  Want,  kneel  in  the  public  way. 

"  And  grave  and  hoary  men  were  bribed  to  tell 

From  seats  where  law  is  made  the  slave  of  wrong, 

How  glorious  Athens  in  her  splendour  fell, 

Because  her  sons  were  free, — and  that  among 

Mankind  the  many  to  the  few  belong, 

By  Heaven,  and  Nature,  and  Necessity. 

They  said,  that  age  was  truth,  and  that  the  young 

Marred  with  wild  hopes  the  peace  of  slavery, 

With  which  old  times  and  men  had  quelled  the  vain  and  free 

"  And  with  the  falsehood  of  their  poisonous  lips 

They  breathed  on  the  enduring  memory 

Of  sages  and  of  bards  a  brief  eclipse  : 

There  was  ove  teacher,  whom  necessity 

Had  arrrc*  with  strength  and  wrong  against  mankind, 

His  slave  and  his  avenger  aye  to  be; 

That  we  were  weak  and  sinful,  frail  and  blind, 

And  that  the  will  of  one  was  peace,  and  we 

Should  seek  for  nought  on  earth  but  toil  and  miser 


THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM.  217 

"  'For  thus  we  might  avoid  the  hell  hereafter.' 

So  spake  the  hypocrites,  who  cursed  and  lied  ; 

Alas,  their  sway  was  past,  and  tears  and  laughter 

Clung  to  their  hoary  r.iir,  withering  the  pride 

Which  in  their  hollow  hearts  dared  still  abide  ; 

And  yet  obscener  slaves  with  smoother  brow, 

And  sneers  on  their  strait  lips,  thin,  blue,  and  wide, 

Said,  that  the  rule  of  men  was  over  now, 

And  hence  the  subject  world  to  woman's  will  must  bow. 

"  And  gold  was  scattered  through  the  streets,  and  wine 

Flowed  at  a  hundred  feasts  within  the  wall. 

In  vain !  the  steady  towers  in  Heaven  did  shine 

As  they  were  wont,  nor  at  the  priestly  call 

Left  Plague  her  banquet  in  the  ./Ethiop's  hall, 

Nor  Famine  from  the  rich  man's  portal  came, 

Where  at  her  ease  she  ever  prays  on  all 

Who  throng  to  kneel  for  food  :  nor  fear,  nor  shame, 

Nor  faith,  nor  discord,  dimmed  hope's  newly-kindled  flame. 

"  For  gold  was  as  a  god,  whose  faith  began 

To  fade,  so  that  its  worshippers  were  few ; 

And  Faith  itself,  which  in  the  heart  of  man 

Gives  shape,  voice,  name,  to  spectral  Terror,  knew 

Its  downfall,  as  the  altars  lonelier  grew, 

Till  the  Priests  stood  alont  within  the  fane ; 

The  shafts  of  falsehood  unpoliuting  flew, 

And  the  cold  sneers  of  calumny  were  vain, 

The  union  of  the  free  with  discord's  brand  to  stain. 

"The  rest  thou  knowest, — Lo  ! — we  two  are  here — 

We  have  survived  a  ruin  wide  and  deep — 

Strange  thoughts  are  mine. — I  cannot  grieve  nor  fear, 

Sitting  with  thee  upon  this  lonely  steep 

I  smile,  though  human  love  should  make  me  weep. 

We  have  survived  a  joy  that  knows  no  sorrow, 

And  I  do  feel  a  mighty  calmness  creep 

Over  my  heart,  which  can  no  longer  borrow 

Its  hues  from  chance  or  change,  dark  children  of  to-morrow. 

"We  know  not  what  will  come — Yet,  Laon,  dearest, 

Cythna  shall  be  the  prophetess  of  love, 

Her  lips  shall  rob  thee  of  the  grace  thou  wearest, 

To  hide  thy  heart,  and  clothe  the  shapes  which  rove 

Within  the  homeless  future's  wintry  grove  j 

For  I  now,  sitting  thus  beside  thee,  seem 

Even  with  thy  breath  and  blood  to  live  and  move, 

And  violence  and  wrong  are  as  a  dream 

Which,  rolls  from  steadfast  truth,  an  unreturning 


218  THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM. 

"  The  blasts  of  autumn  drive  the  winged  seeds 
Over  the  earth — next  come  the  snows,  and  rain, 
And  frosts,  and  storms,  which  dreary  winter  leads 
Out  of  his  Scythian  cave,  a  savage  train; 
Behold  !   Spring  sweeps  over  the  world  again, 
Shedding  soft  dews  from  her  aetherial  wings  ; 
Flowers  on  the  mountains,  fruits  over  the  plain, 
And  music  on  the  waves  and  woods  she  flings, 
And  kve  on  all  that  lives,  and  calm  on  lifeless  things. 

"  O  Spring  !  of  hope,  and  love,  and  youth,  and  gladness, 
Wind-winged  emblem  !  brightest,  best,  and  fairest ! 
Whence  comest  thou,  when,  with  dark  winter's  sadness 
The  tears  that  fade  in  sunny  smiles  thou  sharest? 
Sister  of  joy  !  thou  art  the  child  who  bearest 
Thy  mother's  dying  smile,  tender  and  sweet  ; 
Thy  mother  Autumn,  for  whose  grave  thou  bearest 
Fresh  flowers,  and  beams  like  flowers,  with  gentle  feet, 
Disturbing  not  the  leaves  which  are  her  winding  sheet. 

"  Virtue,  and  Hope,  and  Love,  like  light  and  Heaven, 
Surround  the  world. — We  are  their  chosen  slaves. 
Has  not  the  whirlwind  of  our  spirit  driven 
Truth's  deathless  germs  to  thought's  remotest  caves  ? 
Lo,  Winter  comes ! — the  grief  of  many  graves, 
The  frost  of  death,  the  tempest  of  the  sword, 
The  flood  of  tyranny,  whose  sanguine  waves 
Stagnate  like  ice  at  Faitn,  the  encnanter  s  word, 
And  bind  all  human  hearts  in  its  repose  abhorred. 

"  The  seeds  are  sleeping  in  the  soil :  meanwhile 
The  tyrant  peoples  dungeons  with  his  prey; 
Pale  victims  on  the  guarded  scaffold  smile 
Because  they  cannot  speak  ;  and,  day  by  day, 
The  moon  of  wasting  Science  wanes  away 
Among  her  stars,  and  in  that  darkness  vast 
The  sons  of  earth  to  their  foul  idols  pray, 
And  grey  Priests  triumph,  and  like  blight  or  blast 
A.  shade  of  selfish  care  o'er  human  looks  is  cast. 

"  This  is  the  Winter  of  the  world  ; — and  here 

We  die,  even  as  the  winds  of  autumn  fade, 

Expiring  in  the  frore  and  foggy  air. — 

Behold  !  Spring  comes,  though  we  must  pass,  who  made 

The  promise  of  it's  birth, — even  as  the  shade 

Which  from  our  death,  as  from  a  mountain,  flings 

The  future,  a  broad  sunrise  ;  thus  arrayed 

As  with  the  plumes  of  overshadowing  wings, 

From  its  dark  gulph  of  chains,  Earth  like  an  Eagle  springs. 


=j 


THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM.  219 

"  O  dearest  love !  we  shall  be  dead  and  cold 

Before  this  morn  may  on  the  world  arise: 

Would 'st  thou  the  glory  of  its  dawn  behold  ? 

Alas !  gaze  not  on  me,  but  turn  thine  eyes 

On  thine  own  heart — it  is  a  paradise 

Which  everlasting  spring  has  made  its  own 

And,  while  drear  Winter  fills  the  naked  skies, 

Sweet  streams  of  sunny  thought,  and  flowers  fresh  blown 

Are  there,  and  weave  their  sounds  and  odours  into  one. 

"  In  their  own  hearts  the  earnest  of  the  hope 

Which  made  them  great,  the  good  will  ever  find} 

And  though  some  envious  shade  may  interlope 

Between  the  effect  and  it,  one  comes  behind, 

Who  aye  the  future  to  the  past  will  bind — 

Necessity,  whose  sightless  strength  for  ever 

Evil  with  evil,  good  with  good,  must  wind 

In  bands  of  union,  which  no  power  may  sever; 

They  must  bring  forth  their  kind,  and  be  divided  neveil 

"  The  good  and  mighty  of  departed  ages 

Are  in  their  graves,  the  Innocent  and  free, 

Heroes,  and  Poets,  and  prevailing  Sages, 

Who  leave  the  vesture  of  their  majesty 

To  adorn  and  clothe  this  naked  world  : — and  we 

Are  like  to  them — such  perish,  but  they  leave 

All  hope,  or  love,  or  truth,  or  liberty, 

Whose  forms  their  mighty  spirits  could  conceive 

To  be  a  rule  and  law  to  ages  that  survive. 

"  So  be  the  turf  heaped  over  our  remains 
Even  in  our  happy  youth,  and  that  strange  lot, 
Wbate'er  it  be,  when  in  these  mingling  veins 
The  blood  is  still,  be  ours  ;  let  sense  and  thought 
Pass  from  our  being,  or  be  numbered  not 
Among  the  things  that  are  ;  let  those  who  come 
Behind,  for  whom  our  stedfast  will  has  bought 
A  calm  inheritance,  a  glorious  doom, 
Insult  with  careless  tread  our  undivided  tomb. 

"Our  many  thoughts  and  deeds,  our  life  and  love, 

Our  happiness,  and  all  that  we  have  been, 

Immortally  must  live,  and  burn,  and  move, 

When  we  shall  be  no  more  ; — the  world  has  seen 

A  type  of  peace ;  and  as  some  most  serene 

And  lovely  spot  to  a  poor  maniac's  eye, 

After  long  years,  some  sweet  and  moving  scene 

Of  youthful  hope  returning  suddenly, 

Quells  his  long  madness — thus  man  shall  remember  thee 


220 


THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM. 


"  Ami  calumny  meanwhile  sliall  feed  on  us 

As  worms  devoui  the  dead,  and  near  the  throne 

And  at  the  altar,  most  accepted  thus 

Shall  sneers  and  curses  be; — what  we  have  done 

None  shall  dare  vouch,  though  it  be  truly  known; 

That  record  shall  remain,  when  they  must  pass 

Who  built  their  pride  on  its  oblivion  ; 

And  fame,  in  human  hope  which  sculptured  was, 

Survive  the  perished  scrolls  of  unenduring  brass. 

"  The  while  we  two,  beloved,  must  depart, 
And  Sense  and  Reason,  those  enchanters  fair, 
Whose  wand  of  power  is  hope,  would  bid  the  heart 
That  gazed  beyond  the  wormy  grave  despair: 
These  eyes,  these  lips,  this  blood,  seem,  darkly  there 
To  fade  in  hideous  ruin  ;  no  calm. sleep, 
Peopling  with  golden  dreams  the  stagnant  air, 
Seems  our  obscure  and  rotting  eyes  to  steep 
In  joy: — but  senseless  death — a  ruin  dark  and  deep  ! 

"  These  are  blind  fancies.     Reason  cannot  know 

What  sense  can  neither  fee)  nor  thought  conceive; 

There  is  delusion  in  the  world — ana  woe, 

And  fear,  and  pain — we  know  not  whence  we  live, 

Or  why,  or  how,  or  what  mute  Power  may  give 

Their  being  to  each  plant,  and  star,  and  beast, 

Or  even  these  thoughts. — Come  near  me  !  1  do  weave 

A  chain  I  cannot  break — 1  am  possest 

With  thoughts  too  swift  and  strong  for  one  lone  human  breast. 

"  Yes,  yes — thy  kiss  is  sweet,  thy  lips  are  warm — 
O  !  willingly,  beloved,  would  these  eyes, 
Might  they  no  more  drink  being  from  thy  form, 
Even  as  to  sleep  whence  we  again  arise, 
Close  their  faint  orbs  in  death.     I  fear  nor  prize 
Aught  that  can  now  betide,  unshared  by  thee — 
\  es,  Love;  when  wisdom  fails,  makes  Cythna  wise  ; 
Darkness  and  death,  if  death  be  true,  must  be 
Dearer  than  life  and  hope  if  uner.joyed  with  thee. 


"  Alas  !  our  thoughts  flew  on  with  stream,  whose  waters 

Return  not  to  their  fountain— Earth  and  Heaven, 

The  ccean  and  the  Sun,  the  clouds  their  daughters, 

M  inter,  and  Spring,  and  Morn,  and  Noon,  and  Even, 

All  that  we  are  or  know,  is  darkly  driven 

Towards  one  gulph. — Lo  !  what  a  change  is  come 

Since  I  first  spake — but  time  shall  be  forgiven, 

Though  it  change  ail  but  thee!"   She  ceased— night's  gloom 

Meanwhile  had  fallen  on  earth  from  the  sky's  sunless  dome. 


THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM.  221 

Though  she  had  ceased,  her  countenance,  uplifted 
To  Heaven,  still  spake,  with  solemn  glory  bright; 
Her  dark  deep  eyes,  her  iips,  whose  motions  gi'ted 
The  air  they  breathed  with  love,  her  locks  undight ; 
"Fair  star  of  life  and  love,"   1  cried,  "  my  soul's  delight, 
Why  iookest  thou  on  the  crystalline  skies  1 
O  that  my  spirit  were  yon  Heaven  of  night, 
Which  gazes  on  thee  with  its  thousand  eyes!" 
She  turned  to  me  and  smiled — that  smile  was  Paradise: 


CANTO    X. 

Was  there  a  human  spirit  in  the  steed, 

That  thus  with  his  proud  voice,  ere  night  was  gone, 

He  broke  our  linked  rest  ?  or  do  indeed 

All  living  things  a  common  nature  own, 

And  thought  eiect  a  universal  throne, 

Where  many  shapes  one  tribute  ever  hear  ? 

And  Earth,  their  mutual  mother,  does  she  groan 

To  see  her  sons  contend  ?  and  makes  she  bare 

Her  breast,  that  all  in  peace  its  drainless  stores  may  share  ? 

I  have  heard  friendly  sounds  from  many  a  tongue 

Which  was  not  human — the  lone  Nightingale 

Has  answered  me  with  her  most  soothing  song, 

Out  of  her  ivy  bower,  when  I  sate  pale 

With  grief,  and  sighed  beneath  ;  from  many  a  dale 

The  Antelopes  who  flocked  for  food  have  spoken 

With  happy  sounds,  and  motions,  that  avail 

Like  man's  own  speech:  and  such  was  now  the  token 

Of  waning  night,  whose  calm  by  that  proud  neigh  was  broken 

Each  night  that  mighty  steed  bore  rne  abroad, 

And  I  returned  with  food  to  our  retreat, 

And  dark  intelligence  j  the  blood,  which  flowed 

Over  the  fields,  had  stained  the  courser's  feet  ; — 

Soon  the  dust  drinks  that  bitter  dew  ; — then  meet 

The  vulture,  and  the  wild-dog,  and  the  snake, 

The  wolf,  and  hyaena  grey,  and  eat 

The  dead  in  horrid  truce:  their  throngs  did  make 

Behind  the  steed,  a  chasm  like  waves  in  a  ship's  woke 

For,  from  the  utmost  realms  of  earth,  came  pouring 
The  banded  slaves  whom  every  despot  sent 
At  that  throned  traitor's  summons;  like  the  roaring 
Of  fire,  whose  floods  the  wild  deer  circumvent 
In  the  scorched  pastures  of  the  South  ;  so  bent 
The  armies  of  the  leagued  kit  gs  around 


?22  THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM. 

Their  files  of  steel  and  flame  ; — the  continent 

Trembled,  as  with  a  zone  of  ruin  bound  ; 

Beneath  their  feet  the  sea  shook  with  their  navies'  sound. 

From  every  nation  of  the  earth  they  came, 
The  multitude  of  moving  heartless  things, 
Whom  slaves  call  men  ;  obediently  they  came, 
Like  sheep  whom  from  the  fold  the  shepherd  brings 
To  the  stall,  red  with  blood ;  their  many  kings 
Led  them  thus,  thus  erring,  from  their  native  home; 
Tartar  and  Frank,  and  millions  whom  the  wings 
Of  Indian  breezes  lull,  and  many  a  band 
The  Arctic  Anarch  sent,  and  Idumea's  sand, 

Fertile  in  prodigies  and  lies  ; — so  their 
Strange  natures  made  a  brotherhood  of  ill. 
The  desert  savage  ceased  to  grasp  in  fear 
His  Asian  shield  and  bow,  when,  at  the  will 
Of  Europe's  subtler  son,  the  bolt  would  kill 
Some  shepherd  sitting  on  a  rock  secure; 
Hut  smiles  of  wondering  joy  his  face  would  fill, 
And  savage  sympathy:   those  slaves  impure, 
Each  one  the  other  thus  from  ill  to  ill  did  lure. 

For  traitorously  did  that  foul  Tyrant  robe 

His  countenance  in  lies ; — even  at  the  hour 

When  he  was  snatched  from  death,  then  o'er  the  globe, 

Willi  secret  signs  from  many  a  mountain  tower, 

With  smoke  by  day,  and  fire  by  night,  the  power 

Of  kings  and  priests,  those  dark  conspirators 

He  called: — they  knew  his  cause  their  own,  and  swore 

Like  wolves  and  serpents  to  their  mutual  wars 

Strange  truce,  with  many  a  rite  which  Earth  and  Heaven  abhors. 

Myriads  had  come — millions  were  on  their  way; 
The  tyrant  past,  surrounded  by  the  steel 
Of  hired  assassins,  through  the  public  way, 
Choked  with  his  country's  dead  ; — his  footsteps  reel 
On  the  fresh  blood — he  smiles.     "Aye,  now  1  feel 
I  am  a  King  in  truth  !"  he  said,  and  took 
His  royal  seat,  and  bade  the  torturing  wheel 
Be  brought,  and  fire,  and  pincers,  and  the  hook, 
And  scorpions,  that  his  soul  on  its  revenge  might  look. 

"  Buv  first,  goslay  the  rebels. — Why  return 
The  victor  bands  Vi  he  said  :  "  millions  yet  live, 
Of  whom  the  weakest  with  one  word  might  turn 
The  scales  of  victory  yet ; — let  none  survive 
But  those  within  the  walls— each  fifth  shall  give 
The  expiation  for  his  brethren  here. — 


THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM.  22 

Go  forth,  and  waste  and  kill !" — "O  king,  forgive 
My  speech."  a  soldier  answered; — "  but  we  tear 
The  spiiits  of  the  night,  and  morn  is  drawing  near; 

"  For  we  were  slaying  still  without  remorse, 

And  now  that  dreadful  chief  beneath  my  hand 

Defenceless  lay,  when,  on  a  hell-black  horse, 

An  Angel  bright  as  day,  waving  a  brand 

Which  flashed  among  the  stars,  passed" — "  Dost  thou  stand 

Parleying' with  me,  thou  wretch  !"  the  king  replied; 

'•  Slaves,  bind  him  to  the  wheel ;  and  of  this  band 

Whoso  will  drag  that  women  to  his  side 

That  scared  him  thus,  may  burn  his  dearest  foe  beside ; 

"  And  gold  and  glory  shall  be  his.— Go  forth  !" 
They  rushed  into  the  plain — Loud  was  the  roar 
Of  their  career;  the  horsemen  shook  the  earth  ; 
The  wheeled  artillery's  speed  the  pavement  tore  ; 
The  Infantry,  hie  after  hie  did  pour 
Their  clouds  on  the  utmost  hills.     Five  days  they  slew 
Among  the  wasted  fields  :  the  sixth  saw  gore 
Stream  through  the  city;  on  the  seventh,  the  dew 
Of  slaughter  became  stiff;  and  there  was  peace  anew. 

Peace  in  the  desert  fields  and  villages, 
Between  the  glutted  beasts  and  mangled  dead  ! 
Peace  in  the  silent  streets!  save  when  the  cries    • 
Of  victims,  to  their  fiery  judgment  led, 
Made  pale  their  voiceless  lips,  who  seemed  to  dread 
Even  in  their  dearest  kindred  lest  some  tmgue 
Be  faithless  to  the  fear  yet  unbetrayed  ; 
Peace  in  the  Tyrant's  palace,  where  the  throng 
Waste  the  triumphal  hours  in  festival  and  song! 

Day  after  day  the  burning  Sun  rolled  on 
Over  the  death-polluted  land  ; — it  came 
Out  of  the  East  like  fire,  and  fiercely  shone 
A  lamp  of  Autumn,  ripening  with  its  flame 
The  few  lone  ears  of  corn  ; — the  sky  became 
Stagnate  with  heat,  so  that  each  cloud  and  blast 
Languished  and  died;  the  thirsting  air  did  claim 
All  moisture,  and  a  rotting  vapour  past 
From  the  unburied  dead,  invisible  and  fast. 

First  want,  then  Plague,  came  on  the  beasts;  their  food 

Failed,  and  they  drew  the  breath  of  its  decay. 

Millions  on  millions,  whom  the  scent  of  blood 

Had  lured,  or  who,  from  regions  far  away, 

Had  tracked  the  hosts  in  festival  array 

From  their  dark  deserts,  gaunt  and  wasting  now, 


224  THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM. 

Stalked  like  fell  shades  among  their  perish'd  prey ; 

In  their  green  eyes  a  strange  disease  did  glow  ; 

They  sank  in  hideous  spasm,  or  pains  severe  and  slow. 

The  fish  were  poisoned  in  the  streams  ;  the  birds 

In  the  green  woods  perished ;  the  insect  race 

Was  withered  up;  the  scattered  flocks  and  nerds. 

Who  had  survived  the  wild  beasts'  hungry  chac-:. 

Died  moaning,  each  upon  the  other's  face 

In  helpless  agony  gazing;  round  the  City 

All  night  the  lean  hyaenas  their  sad  case 

Like  starving  infants  wailed-a  woeful  ditty ! 

And  many  a  mother  wept,  pierced  with  unnatural  pity. 

Amid  the  aerial  minarets  on  high, 

The/Ethiopian  vultures  fluttering  fell 

From  their  long  line  of  brethren  in  the  sky, 

Startling  the  concourse  of  mankind. — Too  well 

These  signs  the  coming  mischief  did  foretell  :- 

Strange  panic  first,  a  deep  and  sickening  dread 

Within  each  heart,  like  ice,  did  sink  and  dwell, 

A  voiceless  thought  of  evil,  which  did  spread 

With  the  quick  glance  of  eyes  like  withering  lightning  shed. 

Day  after  day,  when  the  year  wanes,  the  frosts 
Strip  its  green  crown  of  leaves,  till  all  is  bare; 
So  on  those  strange  and  congregated  hosts 
Came  Famine,  a  swift  shadow,  and  the  air 
Groaned  with  the  burden  of  a  new  despair; 
Famine,  than  whom  Misrule  no  deadlier  daughter 
Feeds  from  her  thousand  breasts,  though  sleeping  there 
With  lidless  eyes  lie  Faith,  and  Plague,  and  Slaughter, 
A  ghastly  brood  conceived  of  Lethe's  sullen  water. 

There  was  no  food  ;  the  corn  was  trampled  down, 
The  flocks  and  herds  had  perished  ;  on  the  shore 
The  dead  and  putrid  fish  were  ever  thrown : 
The  deeps  were  foodless,  and  the  winds  no  more 
Creaked  with  the  weight  of  birds,  but,  as  before 
Those  winged  things  sprang  forth,  were  void  of  shade; 
The  vines  and  orchards,  Autumn's  golden  store, 
Were  burned  ;-  so  that  the  meanest  food  was  weighed 
With  gold,  and  vVvarice  died  before  the  god  it  made. 

There  was  no  corn — in  the  wide  market-  place 
All  loathliest  things,  even  human  flesh,  was  sold 
They  weighed  it  in  small  scales — and  many  a  face 
Was  fixed  in  eager  horror  then:  his  geld 
The  miser  brought ;  the  tender  maid,  grown  bold 
Through  hunger,  bared  her  scorned  charms  in  vain  j 


THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM.  225 

The  mother  brought  her  eldest  born,  controlled 

By  instinct  blind  as  love  but  turned  again 

And  bade  her  infant  suck,  and  died  in  silent  pain. 

Then  fell  blue  Plague  upon  the  race  of  man. 

"  Oh,  for  the  sheathed  steel,  so  late  which  gave 

Oblivion  to  the  dead,  when  the  streets  ran 

With  brothers'  blood!  Oh,  that  the  earthquakes  grave 

Would  gape,  or  Ocean  lift  its  stifling  wave!" 

Vain  cries—  throughout  the  streets,  thousands  pursued 

Each  by  his  fiery  torture,  howl  and  rave 

Or  sit,  in  frenzy's  unimagined  mood, 

Upon  fresh  heaps  of  dead —  a  ghastly  multitude. 

Jt  was  not  hunger  now,  but  thirst.     Each  well 

Was  choked  with  rotting  corpses,  and  became 

A  cauldron  of  green  mist  made  visible 

At  sunrise.     Thither  still  the  myriads  came, 

Seeking  to  quench  the  agony  of  the  flame, 

Which  raged  like  poison  through  their  bursting  veins; 

Naked  they  were  from  torture,  without  shame, 

Spotted  with  nameless  scars  and  lurid  blains 

Childhood,  and  youth,  and  age,  writhing  in  savage  pairw. 

It  was  not  thirst  but  madness !     Many  saw 

Their  own  lean  image  every  where ;  it  went 

A  ghastlier  self  beside  them,  till  the   awe 

Of  that  dread  sight  to  self-destruction  sent 

Those  shrieking  victims ;  some,  ere  life  was  spent, 

Sought,  with  a  horrid  sympathy,  to  shed 

Contagion  on  the  sound  ;  and  others  rent 

Their  matted  hair,  and  cried  aloud,  "  We  tread 

On  fire !  The  avenging  Power  his  hell  on  earth  has  spread," 

Sometimes  the  living  by  the  dead  were  hid, 

Near  the  great  fountain  in  the  public  Square, 

Where  corpses  made  a  crumbling  pyramid 

Under  the  sun,  was  heard  one  stifled  prayer 

For  life,  in  the  hot  silence  of  the  air  : 

And  strange  'twas  amid  that  hideous  heap  to  see 

Some  shrouded  in  their  long  and  golden  hair, 

As  if  not  dead,  but  slumbering  quietly 

Like  forms  which  sculptors  carve,  then  love  to  agony. 

Famine  had  spared  the  palace  of  the  king: — 

He  rioted  in  festival  the  while, 

He  and  his  guards  and  priests  j  but  Plague  did  fling 

One  shadow  upon  all.     Famine  can  smile 

On  him  who  brings  it  food,  and  pass,  with  guile 

Of  thankful  falsehood,  like  a  courtier  grey, 


226  THE    REVOLT  OF  ISLAM. 

The  house-dog  of  the  throne  ;  but  many  a  mile 

Comes  Plague,  a  winged  wolf,  who  loathes  alway 

The  garbage  and  the  scum  that  strangers  make  her  prey. 

So,  near  the  throne,  amid  the  gorgeous  feast, . 

Sheathed  in  resplendent  arms,  or  loosely  dight 

To  luxury,  ere  the  mockery  yet  had  ceased 

That  lingered  on  his  lips,  the  warrior's  might 

Was  loosened,  and  a  new  and  ghastlier  night 

In  dreams  of  frenzy  lapped  his  eyes;  he  fell 

Headlong,  or  with  stiff  eyeballs  sate  upright 

Among  the  guests,  or  raving  mad,  did  tell 

Strange  truths ;  a  dying  seer  of  dark  oppression's  hell. 

The  Princes  and  the  Priests  were  pale  with  terror ; 
That  monstrous  faith  wherewith  they  ruled  mankind 
Fell,  like  a  shaft  loosened  by  the  bowman's  error, 
On  their  own  hearts:  they  sought  and  they  could  find 
No  refuge — 'twas  the  blind  who  led  the  blind  ! 
So,  through  the  desolate  streets  to  the  high  fane, 
The  many-tongued  and  endless  armies  wind 
In  sad  procession :  each  among  the  train 
To  his  own  Idol  lifts  his  supplications  vain. 

"  O  God !"  they  cried,  "  we  know  our  secret  pride 

Has  scorned  thee,  and  thy  worship,  and  thy  name; 

Secure  in  human  power,  we  have  defied 

Thy  fearful  might ;  we  bend  in  fear  and  shame 

Before  thy  presence ;  with  the  dust  we  claim 

Kindred.      Be  merciful,  O  King  of  Heaven ! 

Most  justly  have  we  suffered  for  thy  fame 

Made  dim,  but  be  at  length  our  sins  forgiven, 

Ere  to  despair  and  death  thy  worshippers  be  driven. 

"  O  King  of  Glory !  Thou  alone  hast  power ! 
Who  can  resist  thy  will  ?  who  can  restrain 
Thy  wrath,  when  on  the  guilty  thou  dost  shower 
The  shafts  of  thy  revenge, — a  blistering  rain? 
Greatest  and  best,  be  merciful  again! 
Have  we  not  stabbed  thine  enemies,  and  made 
The  Earth  an  altar,  and  the  Heavens  a  fane, 
Where  thou  wert  worshipped  with  the^r  blood,  and  laid 
Those  hearts  in  dust  which  would  thy  searchless  works  have 
weighed  ? 

"  Well  didst  thou  loosen  on  this  impious  City 
Thine  angels  of  revenge:  recall  them  now; 
Thy  worshippers,  abased,  here  kneel  for  pity, 
And  bind  their  souls  by  an  immortal  vow  : 
W  e  swear  by  thee  !  and  to  our  oath  do  thou 


THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM.  227 

Give  sanction,  from  thine  hell  of  fiends  and  flame, 

That  we  will  kill  with  fire  and  torments  slow, 

The  last  of  those  who  mocked  thy  holy  name, 

And  scorned  the  sacred  laws  thy  prophets  did  proclaim. 

Thus  they  with  trembling  limbs  and  pallid  lips 

Worshipped  their  own  hearts'  image,  dim  and  vpst, 

Scared  by  the  shade  wherewith  they  would  eclipse 

The  light  of  other  minds  ; —  troubled  they  past 

From  the  great  Temple. — Fiercely,  still,  and  fast 

The  arrows  of  the  plague  among  them  fell, 

And  they  on  one  another  gazed  aghast, 

And  through  the  hosts  contention  wild  befell, 

As  each  of  his  own  god  the  wondrous  works  did  tell. 

And  Oromaze,  Joshua,  and  Mahomet, 

Moses,  and  Buddh,  Zerdusht,  and  Brahm,  and  Foh, 

A  tumult  of  strange  names,  which  never  met 

Before,  as  watchwords  of  a  single  woe, 

Arose.     Each  raging  votary  'gan  to  throw 

Aloft  his  armed  hands,  and  each  did  howl 

"Our  God  alone  is  God!"  and  slaughter  now 

Would  have  gone  forth,  when,  from  beneath  a  cowl 

A  voice  came  forth,  which  pierced  like  ice  through  every  soul. 

'Twas  an  Iberian  Priest  from  whom  it  came, 

A  zealous  man,  who  led  the  legioned  west 

With  words  which  faith  and  pride  had  steeped  in  flame, 

To  quell  the  unbelievers  ;  a  dire  guest 

Even  to  his  friends  was  he,  for  in  his  breast 

Did  hate  and  guile  lay  watchful,  intertwined 

Twin  serpents  in  one  deep  and  winding  nest : 

He  loathed  all  faith  beside  his  own,  and  pined 

To  wreak  his  fear  of  Heaven  in  vengeance  on  mankind. 

But  more  he  loathed  and  hated  the  clear  light 

01  wisdom  and  free  thought,  and  more  did  fear, 

Lest,  kindled  once,  its  beams  might  pierce  the  night, 

Even  where  his  Idol  stood ;  for,  far  and  near 

Did  many  a  heart  in  Europe  leap  to  hear 

That  faith  and  tyranny  were  trampled  down  ; 

Many  a  pale  victim,  doomed  for  truth  to  share 

The  murderer's  cell,  or  see,  with  helpless  groan, 

The  Priests  his  children  drag  for  slaves  to  serve  their  own. 

He  dared  not  kill  the  infidels  with  fire 
Or  steel,  in  Europe  :  the  slow  agonies 
Of  legal  torture  mocked  his  keen  desire  : 
So  he  mr.de  truce  with  those  who  did  despise 
The  expiation,  and  the  sacrifice, 
20* 


228  THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM. 

That,  though  detested,  Islam's  kindred  creed 
Might  crush  for  him  those  deadlier  enemies; 
For  fear  of  God  did  in  his  bosom  breed 
A  jealous  hate  of  man,  an  unreposing  need. 

"  Peace!  Peace  !"  he  cried,  "  When  we  are  dead,  the  Day 

Of  Judgment  comes,  and  all  shall  surely  know 

Whose  God  is  God,  each  fearfully  shall  pay 

The  .errors  of  his  faith  in  endless  woe  ! 

But  there  is  sent  a  mortal  vengeance  now 

On  earth,  because  an  impious  race  had  spumed 

Him  whom  we  all  adore, — a  subtle  foe, 

By  whom  for  ye  this  dread  reward  was  earned, 

And  kingly  thrones,  which  rest  on  faith,  nigh  overturned. 

"  Think  ye,  because  we  weep,  and  kneel,  and  pray, 

That  God  will  lull  the  pestilence  ?     It  rose 

Even,  from  beneath  his  throne,  where,  many  a  day 

His  mercy  soothed  it  to  a  dark  repose  :    . 

It  walks  upon  the  earth  to  judge  his  foes, 

And  what  art  thou  and  1,  that  he  should  deign 

To  curb  his  ghastly  minister,  or  close 

The  gates  of  death,  ere  they  receive  the  twain 

Who  shook  with  mortal  spells  his  undefended  reign  ? 

"Aye,  there  is  famine  in  the  gulph  of  hell ; 

Its  giant  worms  of  fire  for  ever  yawn, — 

Their  lurid  eyes  are  on  uo !     Those  who  fell 

By  the  swift  shafts  of  pestilence  ere  dawn, 

Are  in  their  jaws !     They  hunger  for  the  spawn 

Of  Satan,  their  own  brethren,  who  were  sent 

To  make  our  souls  their  spoil.     See !  see !     they  fawn 

Like  dogs,  and  they  will  sleep,  with  luxury  spent, 

When  those  detested  hearts  their  iron  fangs  have  rent! 

"  Our  God  may  then  lull  Pestilence  to  sleep  : — 

Pile  high  the  pyre  of  expiation  now! 

A  forest's  spoil  of  boughs,  and  on  the  heap 

Pour  venomous  gums,  which  sullenly  and  slow, 

When  touched  by  flame,  shall  burn,,  and  melt,  and  flow, 

A  stream  of  clinging  fire, —  and  fix  on  high 

A  net  of  iron,  and  spread  forth  below 

A  couch  of  snakes,  and  scorpions,  and  the  fry 

Of  centipedes  and  worms, —  earth's  hellish  progeny! 

"  Let  Laon  and  Laone  on  that  pyre, 
Linked  tight  with  burning  brass,  perish  ! — then  pray- 
That,  with  this  sacrifice,  the  withering  ire 
Of  Heaven  may  be  appeased."     He  ceased,  and  they 
A  space  stood  sihnt,  as  far,  far  away 


THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM.  229 

The  echoes  of  his  voice  among  them  died  ; 

And  he  knelt  down  upon  the  dust,  alway 

Muttering  the  curses  of  his  speechless  pride, 

vV'hilst  shame,  and  fear,  and  awe,  the  armies  did  divide. 

His  voice  was  like  a  blast  that  burst  the  portal 

Of  fabled  hell ;  and,  as  he  spake,  each  one 

S;iw  <jape  beneath  the  chasms  of  fire  immortal, 

And  Heaven  above  seemed  cloven,  where,  on  a  throne 

Girt  round  with  storms  and  shadows,  sate  alone 

Their  King  and  Judge.     Fear  killed  in  every  breast 

All  natural  pity  then,  a  fear  unknown 

Before,  and,  with  an  inward  fire  possest, 

They  raged  like  homeless  beasts  whom  burning  woods  invest. 

'Tvvas  morn. — At  noon  the  public  crier  went  forth, 

Proclaiming  through  the  living  and  the  dead, 

"The  Monarch  saith,  that  his  great  empire's  worth 

Is  set  on  Laon  and  Laone's  head : 

He  who  but  one  yet  living  here  can'lead, 

Or  who  the  life  from  both  their  hearts  can  wring 

Shall  be  the  kingdoms  heir, —  a  glorious  meed  ! 

But  he,  who  both  alive  can  hither  bring, 

The  Princess  shall  espouse,  and  reign  an  equal  King." 

.Ere  night  the  pyre  was  piled,  the  net  of  iron 
Was  spread  above  the  fearful  couch  below  j 
It  overtopped  the  towers  that  did  environ 
That  spacious  square ;  for  Fear  is  never  slow 
To  build  the  thrones  of  Hate,  her  mate  and  foe, 
So,  she  scourged  forth  the  maniac  multitude 
To  rear  this  pyramid —  tottering  and  slow, 
Plague-stricken,  foodless,  like  lean  herds  pursued 
By  gad-flies,  they  have  piled  the  heath,  and  gums,  and  Wood. 

Night  came,  a  starless  and  a  moonless  gloom. 

Until  the  dawn,  those  hosts  of  many  a  nation 

Stood  round  that  pile,  as  near  one  lover's  tomb 

Two  gentle  sisters  mourn  their  desolation  ; 

And,  in  the  silence  of  that  expectation, 

Was  heard  on  high  the  reptiles  hiss  and  crawl — 

It  was  so  deep,  save  when  the  devastation 

Of  the  swift  pest  with  fearful  interval, 

Marking  its  path  with  shrieks,  among  the  crowd  would  fall. 

Morn  came. — Among  those  sleepless  multitudes 
Madness,  and  Fear,  and  Plague,  and  Famine,  still 
Heaped  corpse  on  corpse,  as  in  autumnal  woods 
The  frosts  of  many  a  wind  with  dead  leaves  fil 
Earth's  cold  and  sullen  bsooks.     In  silence  still 


230  THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM. 

The  pale  survivors  stood;   ere  noon,  the  fear 

Of  Hell  became  a  panic,  which  did  kill 

Like  hunger  or  disease,  with  whispers  drear,  [is  near!" 

As  "  Hush  !  hark  !  Come  they  yet  ?     Just  Heaven!  thine  hour 

And  Priests  rushed  through  their  ranks,  some  counterfeiting 

The  rage  they  did  inspire,  some  mad  indeed 

With  their  own  lies.     They  said  their  god  was  waiting 

To  see  his  enemies  writhe,  and  burn,  and  bleed, — 

And  that,  till  then,  the  snakes  of  Hell  had  need 

Of  human  souls. — Three  hundred  furnaces 

Soon  blazed  through  the  wide  City,  where,  with  speed, 

Men  brought  their  infidel  kindred  to  appease  [knees. 

God's  wrath,  and,  while  they  burned,  knelt  round  on  quivering 

Then  noontide  sun  was  darkened  with  that  smoke, 

The  winds  of  eve  dispersed  those  ashes  grey. 

The  madness,  which  these  rites  had  lulled,  awoke 

Again  at  sunset. — Who  shall  dare  to  say 

The  deeds  which  night  and  fear  brought  forth  or  weigh 

In  balance  just  the  good  and  evil  there? 

He  might  man's  deep  and  searchless  heart  display, 

And  cast  a  light  on  those  dim  labyrinths,  where 

Hope,  near  imagined  chasms,  is  struggling  with  despair. 

'Tis  said,  a  mother  dragged  three  children  then,* 

To  those  fierce  flames  which  roast  the  eyes  in  the  head, 

And  laughed,  and  died  ;  and  that  unholy  men, 

Feasting  like  fiends  upon  the  infidel  dead, 

Looked  from  their  meal,  and  saw  an  angel  tread 

The  visible  floor  of  Heaven,  and  it  was  she  ! 

And,  on  that  night,  one  without  doubt  01  dread 

Came  to  the  fire,  and  said,  "  Stop,  I  am  he ! 

Kill  me!" — They  burned  them  both  with  hellish  mockery. 

And,  one  by  one,  that  night,  young  maidens  came, 
Beauteous  and  calm,  like  shapes  of  living  stone 
Clothed  in  the  light  of  dreams,  and  by  the  flame 
Which  shrank  as  overgorged,  they  laid  them  down, 
And  sung  a  low  sweet  song,  of  which  alone 
One  word  was  heard,  and  that  was  Liberty  ; 
And  that  some  kiss'd  their  marble  feet,  with  moan 
Like  love,  and  died,  and  then  that  they  did  die 
With  happy  smiles,  which  sunk  in  white  tranquility. 


CANTO    XI. 

She  saw  me  not — she  heard  me  not — alone 
U"pon  the  mountain's  dizzy  brink  she  stood  ; 
She  spake  not,  breathed  not,  moved  not — there  was  thrown 


THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM.  231 

Over  her  look,  the  shadow  of  a  mood 

Which  only  clothes  the  heart  in  solitude, 

A  thought  of  voiceless  death. — She  stood  alone, 

Above,  the  Heavens  were  spread  ; — below,  the  flood 

Was  murmuring  in  its  caves  ; — the  wind  had  blown 

Her  hair  apart,  through  which  her  eyes  and  forehead  shone. 

A  cloud  was  hanging  o'er  the  western  mountains  ; 
Before  its  blue  and  moveless  depth  were  flying 
Grey  mists  poured  forth  from  the  unresting  fountains 
Of  darkness  in  the  North  : — the  day  was  dying: — 
Sudden,  the  sun  shone  forth ;  its  beams  were  lying 
Like  boiling  gold  on  Ocean,  strange  to  see, 
And  on  the  shattered  vapours,  which,  defying 
The  power  of  light  in  vain,  tossed  restlessly 
In  the  red  Heaven,  like  wrecks  in  a  tempestuous  sea. 

It  was  a  stream  of  living  beams,  whose  bank 

On  either  side  by  the  cloud's  cleft  was  made  ; 

And  where  its  chasms  that  flood  of  glory  drank, 

Its  waves  gushed  forth  like  fire,  and,  as  if  swayed 

By  some  mute  tempest,  rolled  on  her.     The  shade 

Of  htr  bright  image  floated  on  the  river 

Of  liquid  light,  which  then  did  end  and  fade — 

Her  radiant  shape  upon  its  verge  did  shiver  ; 

Aloft,  her  flowing  hair  like  strings  of  flame  did  quiver. 

I  stood  beside  her,  but  she  saw  me  not — 

She  looked  upon  the  sea,  and  skies,  and  earth. 

Rapture,  and  love,  and  admiration,  wrought 

A  passion  deeper  far  than  tears,  or  mirth, 

Or  speech,  or  gesture,  or  whate'er  has  birth 

From  common  joy,  which,  with  the  speechless  feeling 

That  led  her  there,  united,  and  shot  forth 

From  her  fair  eyes  a  light  of  deep  revealing, 

All  but  her  dearest  self  from  my  regard  concealing. 

Her  lips  were  parted,  and  the  measured  breath 

Wras  now  heard  there  ; — her  dark  and  intricate  eyes, 

Orb  within  orb,  deeper  than  sleep  or  death, 

Absorbed  the  glories  of  the  burning  skies, 

Which,  mingling  with  her  heart's  deep  ecstacies, 

Burst  from  her  looks  and  gestures ; — and  a  light 

Of  liquid  tenderness,  like  love,  did  rise 

From  her  whole  frame, — an  atmosphere  which  quite 

Arrayed  her  in  its  beams,  tremulous  and  soft  and  bright. 

She  would  have  clasped  me  to  her  glowing  frame : 
Those  warm  and  odorous  lips  might  soon  have  sl'.sd 
On  mine  the  fragrance  and  the  invisible  flame 
Which  now  the  cold  winds  stole; — she  would  have  laid 


232  THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM. 

Upon  my  languid  heart  her  dearest  head ; 
I  might  have  heard  her  voice,  tender  and  sweet; 
Her  eyes,  mingling  with  mine,  might  soon  have  fed 
My  soul  with  their  own  joy. — One  moment  yet 
I  gazed— we  parted  then,  never  again  to  meet ! 

Never  but  once  to  meet  on  earth  again  ! 

She  heard  me  as  I  fled — her  eager  tone 

Sank  on  my  heart,  and  almost  wove  a  chain 

Around  my  will  to  link  it  with  her  own, 

So  that  my  stern  resolve  was  almost  gone. 

"  I  cannot  reach  thee  !  whither  dost  thou  fly  ? 

My  steps  are  faint. — Come  back,  thou  dearest  one — 

Return,  ah  me  !  return  !" — The  wind  passed  by 

On  which  those  accents  died,  faint,  far,  and  lingeringly. 

Woe  !  woe  !  that  moonless  midnight. — Want  and  Pest 

Were  horrible,  but  one  more  fell  doth  rear, 

As  in  a  hydra's  swarming  lair,  its  crest, 

Eminent  among  those  victims — even  the  Fear 

Of  Hell :  each  girt  by  the  hot  atmosphere- 

Of  his  blind  agony,  like  a  scorpion  stung 

15  y  his  own  rage  upon  his  burning  bier 

Of  circling  coals  of  fire  ;  but  still  there  clung 

One  hope,  like  a  keen  sword  on  starting  threads  uphung  : 

Not  death — death  was  no  more  refuge  or  rest  j 

Not  life — it  was  despair  to  be  ! — not  sleep, 

For  fiends  and  chasms  of  fire  had  dis2)ossessed 

All  natural  dreams  ;  to  wake  was  not  to  weep, 

But  to  gaze  mad  and  pallid,  at  the  leap 

To  which  the  Future,  like  a  snaky  scourge, 

Or  like  some  tyrant's  eye  which  aye  doth  keep 

Its  withering  beam  upon  his  slaves,  did  urge 

Their  steps  :— they  heard  the  roar  of  Hell's  sulpureous  surge. 

Each  of  that  multitude  alone,  and  lost 

To  sense  of  outward  things,  one  hope  yet  knew; 

As  on  a  foam-girt  crag  some  seaman  tost, 

Stares'at  the  rising  tide,  or  like  the  crew 

Whilst  now  the  ship  is  splitting  through  and  through, 

Each,  if  the  tramp  of  a  far  steed  was  heard, 

Started  from  sick  despair,  or  if  there  flew 

One  murmur  on  the  wind,  or  if  some  word 

Which  none  can  gather  yet,  the  distant  crowd  has  stirred. 

Why  became  cheeks,  wan  with  the  kiss  of  death, 
Paler  from  hope  !  they  had  sustained  despair. 
Why  watched  those  myriads  with  suspended  breath 
Sleepless  a  second  night  ?  they  are  not  here 


THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM  233 

The  victims,  and  hour  by  hour,  a  vision  drear, 

Warm  corpses  fall  upon  the  clay-cold  dead  f 

And  even  in  death  their  lips  are  writhed  with  fear. — 

The  crowd  is  mute  and  moveless — overhead 

Silent  Arcturus  shine — ha!  hear'st  thou  not  the  tread 

Of  rushing  feet?  laughter?  the  shout,  the  scream, 

Of  triumph  not  to  be  contained?   See!  hark! 

They  come,  they  come  !  give  way !  Alas,  ye  deem 

Falsely — 'tis  but  a  crowd  of  maniacs  stark 

Driven,  like  a  troop  of  spectres,  through  the  dark 

From  the  choked  well,  whence  a  bright  death-fire  sprung, 

A  lurid  earth-star,  which  dropped  many  a  spark 

From  its  blue  train,  and,  spreading  widely,  clung 

To  their  wild  hair,  like  mist  the  topmast  pines  among 

And  many,  from  the  crowd  collected  there, 
Joined  that  strange  dance  in  fearful  sympathies  ; 
There  was  the  silence  of  a  long  despair, 
When  the  last  echo  of  those  terrible  cries 
Came  from  a  distant  street,  like  agonies 
Stifled  afar. — Before  the  Tyrant's  throne 
All  night  his  aged  Senate  sate,  their  eyes 
In  stony  expectation  fixed  ;  when  one 
Sudden  before  them  stood,  a  Stranger  and  alone. 

Dark  Priests  and  haughty  Warriors  gazed  on  hi  n 
With  baffled  wonder,  for  a  hermit's  vest 
Concealed  his  face  ;  but,  when  he  spake,  his  tone, 
Ere  yet  the  matter  did  their  thoughts  arrest, 
Earnest,  benignant,  calm,  as  from  a  breast 
Void  of  all  hate  or  terror,  made  them  start ; 
For  as  with  gentle  accents  he  addressed 
His  speech  to  them,  on  each  unwilling  heart 
Unusual  awe  did  fall — A  spirit-quelling  dart. 

"Ye  Princes  of  the  Earth,  ye  sit  aghast 
Amid  the  ruin  which  yourselves  have  made  ; 
Yes,  Desolation  heard  your  trumpet's  blast, 
And  sprang  from  sleep  ! — dark  Terror  has  obeyed 
Your  bidding— Oh  that  I,  whom  ye  have  made 
Your  foe,  could  set  my  dearest  enemy  free 
From  pain  and  fear  !  but  evil  casts  a  shade 
Which  cannot  pass  so  soon,  and  Hate  must  be 
The  nurse  and  parent  still  of  an  ill  progeny. 

"  Ye  turn  to  Heaven  for  aid  in  your  distress  ; 
Alas,  that  ye,  the  mighty  and  the  wise, 
Who,  if  he  dared,  might  not  aspire  to  less 
Than  ye  conceive  of  power,  should  fear  the  lies 


234       THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM. 

Which  thou,  and  thou,  didst  frame  for  mysteries 

To  blind  your  slaves :— consider  your  own  thought, 

An  empty  and  a  cruel  sacrifice 

Ye  now  prepare,  for  a  vain  idol  wrought 

Out  of  the  fears  and  hate  which  vain  desires  have  brought. 

"  Ye  seek  for  happiness — alas  the  day  ! 
Ye  find  it  not  in  luxury  nor  in  gold, 
Nor  in  the  fame,  nor  in  the  envied  sway 
For  which,  O  willing  slaves  to  Custom  old 
Severe  task  mistress!  ye  your  hearts  have  sold. 
Ye  seek  for  peace,  and  when  ye  die,  to  dream 
No  evil  dreams  ;   all  mortal  things  are  cold 
And  senseless  then.      If  aught  survive,  I  deem 
It  must  be  love  and  joy,  for  they  immortal  seem. 

"  Fear  not  the  future,  weep  not  for  the  past. 

Oh,  could  I  win  your  ears  to  dare  be  now 

Glorious,  and  great,  and  calm  !   that  ye  would  cast 

Into  the  dust  those  symbols  of  your  woe, 

Purple,  and  gold,  and  steel !  that  ye  would  go 

Proclaiming  to  the  nations  whence  ye  came, 

That  Want,  and  Plague,  and  Fear,  from  slavery  flow ; 

And  that  mankind  is  free,  and  that  the  shame 

Of  royalty  and  faith  is  lost  in  freedom's  fame. 

"  If  thus  'tis  well — if  not,  I  come  to  say 

That  Laon — ."  While  the  stranger  spoke,  among 

The  Council  sudden  tumult  and  affray 

Arose,  for  many  of  those  warriors  young 

Had  on  his  eloquent  accents  fed  and  hung 

Like  bees  on  mountain-flowers  !  they  knew  the  truth, 

And  from  their  thrones  in  vindication  sprung; 

The  men  of  faith  and  law  then  without  ruth 

Drew  forth  their  secret  steel,  and  stabbed  each  ardent  youth. 

They  stabbed  them  in  the  back  and  sneered. — A  slave, 
Who  stood  behind  the  throne,  those  corpses  drew 
Each  to  its  bloody,  dark,  and  secret  grave  ; 
And  one  more  daring  raised  his  steel  anew 
To  pierce  the  stranger  :  "  What  hast  thou  to  do 
With  me,  poor  wretch  ?" — Calm,  solemn,  and  severe, 
That  voice  unstrung  his  sinews,  and  he  threw 
His  dagger  on  the  ground,  and,  pale  with  fear, 
Sate  silently — his  voice  then  did  the  Stranger  rear. 

■  It  doth  avail  not  that  I  weep  for  ye — ■ 
Ye  cannot  change,  since  ye  are  old  and  grey, 
And  ye  have  chosen  your  lot. — Your  fame  must  be 
A  book  of  blood,  whence  in  a  milder  day 


THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM.  235 

Men  shall  learn  truth,  when  ye  are  wrapt  in  clay: 

Now  ye  shall  triumph.     I  am  Laon's  friend, 

And  him  to  your  revenge  will  I  betray, 

So  yc  concede  one  ea^y  boon.     Attend  ! 

For  now  I  speak  of  things  which  ye  can  apprehend. 

"  There  is  a  People  mighty  in  its  youth, 

A  land  beyond  the  Oceans  of  the  West, 

Where,  though  with  rudest  rites,  Freedom  and  Truth 

Are  worshipped;  from  a  glorious  mother's  breas.t, 

Who,  since  high  Athens  fell,  among  the  rest 

Sate  like  the  Queen  of  Nations,  but  in  woe, 

Or  inbred  monsters  outraged  aud  oppressed 

Turns  to  her  chainless  child  for  succour  now, 

And  draws  the  milk    f  Power  in  Wisdom's  fullest  flow. 

''  This  land  is  like  an  Eagle,  whose  young  gaze 
Feeds  on  the  noontide  beam,  whose  golden  plume 
Floats  moveless  on  the  storm,  and  in  the  blaze 
Of  sun-rise  gleams  when  Earth  is  wrapt  in  gloom  ; 
An  epitaph  of  glory  for  the  tomb 
Of  murdered  Europe  may  thy  fame  be  made, 
Great  People  !     As  the  sands  shalt  thou  become  ; 
Thy  growth  is  swift  as  morn,  when  night  must  fade; 
The  multitudinous  Earth  shall  sleep  beneath  thy  shade. 

"Yes,  in  the  desert  then  is  built  a  home 

For  Freedom.     Genius  is  made  strong  to  rear 

The  monuments  of  man  beneath  the  dome 

Of  a  new  Heaven;  myriads  assemble  there, 

Whom  the  proud  lords  of  man,  in  rage  or  fear, 

Drive  from  their  wasted  homes.     The  boon  I  pray 

Is  this — that  Cytlma  shall  be  conveyed  there, — 

Nay,  start  not  at  the  name — America  ! 

And  then  to  you  this  night  Laon  will  I  betray. 

"With  me  do  what  ye  will.     I  am  your  foe  !" 
The  light  of  such  a  joy  as  makes  the  stare 
Of  hungry  snakes  like  living  emeralds  glow, 
Shone  in  a  hundred  human  eyes. — '■  Where,  where 
Is  Laon?  haste  !  fly  !  drag  him  swiftly  here! 
We  grant  thy  boon."—"  I  put  no  trust  in  ye. 
Swear  by  the  Power  ye  dread." — "  We  swear,  we  swear  !" 
The  Stranger  threw  his  vest  back  suddenly, 
And  smiled  in  gentle  pride,  and  said,  "  Lo  !  I  am  he !" 
21 


236  THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM. 


The  transport  of  a  fierce  and  monstrous  gladness 
Spread  through  the  multitudinous  streets,  fast  flying 
Upon  the  winds  of  fear;  from  his  dull  madness 
The  starveling  waked,  and  died  in  joy ;  the  dying, 
Among  the  corpses  in  stark  agony  lying, 
Just  heard  the  happy  tidings,  and  in  hope 
Closed  their  faint  eyes,  from  house  to  house  replying 
With  loud  acclaim,  the  living  shook  Heaven's  cope, 
And  filled  the  startled  Earth  with  echoes :  morn  did  ope 

Its  pale  eyes  then  ;  and  lo !  the  long  array 
Of  guards  in  golden  arms,  and  priests  heside, 
Singing  their  bloody  hymns,  whose  garbs  betray 
The  blackness  of  the  faith  it  seems  to  hide ; 
And  see,  the  Tyrant  s  gem-wrought  chariot  glide 
Among  the  gloomy  cowls  and  glittering  spears — 
A  Shape  of  light  is  sitting  by  his  side, 
A  child  most  beautiful.     T  the  midst  appears 
Laon — exempt  alone  from  mortal  hopes  and  fears. 

His  head  and  feet  are  bare  his  hands  are  bound 
Behind  with  heavy  chains,  yet  none  do  wreak 
Their  scoff's  on  him,  though  myriads  throng  around  ; 
There  are  no  sneers  upon  his  lip  which  speak 
That  scorn  or  hate  has  made  him  bold ;  his  cheek 
Resolve  has  not  turned  pale, — his  eyes  are  mild 
And  calm,  and,  like  the  morn  about  to  break, 
Smile  on  mankind — his  heart  seems  reconciled 
To  all  things  and  itself,  like  a  reposing  child.  ' 

Tumult  was  in  the  soul  of  all  beside, 

111  joy,  or  doubt,  or  fear ;  but  those,  who  saw 

Their  tranquil  victim  pass,  felt  wonder  glide 

Into  their  brain,  and  became  calm  with  awe. — 

See,  the  slow  pageant  near  the  pile  doth  draw, 

A  thousand  torches  in  the  spacious  square 

Borne  by  the  ready  slaves  of  ruthless  law, 

Await  the  signals  round:   the  morning  fair 

Js  changed  to  a  dim  night  by  that  unnatural  glare. 

And  see  !  beneath  a  sun-bright  canopy, 

Upon  a  platform  level  with  the  pile, 

The  anxious  Tyrant  sit,  enthroned  on  high, 

Girt  by  the  chieftains  of  the  host.*    All  smile 

In  expectation,  but  one  child :  the  while 

I,  Laon,  led  by  mutes,  ascend  my  bier 

Of  fire,  and  look  around.     Each  distant  isle 

Is  dark  in  the  bright  dawn ;  towers  far  and  near 

Pierce  like  reposing  flames  the  tremulous  atmosphere. 


THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM.  237 

There  was  such  silence  through  the  host,  as  when 
An  earthquake,  trampling  on  some  populous  town, 
Has  crushed  ten  thousand  with  one  tread,  and  men 
Expect  the  second.     All  were  mute  but  one, 
That  fairest  child,  who,  bold  with  love,  alone 
Stood  up  before  the  King,  without  avail, 
Pleading  for  Laon's  life — Her  stifled  groan 
Was  heard— she  trembled  like  an  aspen  pale 
Among  the  gloomy  pines  of  a  Norwegian  vale. 

What  were  his  thoughts  linked  in  the  morning  sun, 
Among  those  reptiles,  stingless  with  delay, 
Even  like  a  tyrant's  wrath  ? — The  signal-gun 
Roared — hark,  again !   In  that  dread  pause  he  lay 
As  in  a  quiet  dream — the  slaves  obey — 
A  thousand  torches  drop, — and  hark,  the  last 
Bursts  on  that  awful  silence.     Far  away 
Millions,  with  hearts  that  beat  both  loud  and  fast, 
Watch  for  the  springing  flame  expectant  and  aghast. 

They  fly — the  torches  fall — a  cry  of  fear 
Has  started  the  triumphant ! — they  recede ! 
For,  ere  the  cannon's  roar  has  died,  they  hear 
The  tramp  of  hoofs  like  earthquake,  and  a  steed, 
Dark  and  gigantic,  with  the  tempest's  speed, 
Bursts  through  their  ranks  :  a  woman  sits  thereon, 
Fairer  it  seems  than  aught  that  earth  can  breed, 
Calm,  radiant,  like  the  phantom  of  the  dawn, 
A  spirit  from  the  caves  of  day-light  wandering  gone. 

All  thought  it  was  God's  Angel  come  to  sweep 

The  lingering  guilty  to  their  fiery  grave  ; 

The  tyrant  from  his  throne  in  dread  did  leap, — 

Her  innocence  his  child  from  fear  did  save. 

Scared  by  the  faith  they  feigned,  each  priestly  slave 

Knelt  for  his  mercy  whom  they  served  with  blood, 

And,  like  the  refluence  of  a  mighty  wave 

Sucked  into  the  loud  sea,  the  multitude 

With  crushing  panic,  fled  in  terror's  altered  mood. 

They  pause,  they  blush,  they  gaze  ;  a  gathering  shout 

Bursts  like  one  sound  from  the  ten  thousand  streams 

Of  a  tempestuous  sea : — that  sudden  rout 

One  checked,  who  never  in  his  mildest  dreams 

Felt  awe  from  grace  or  loveliness,  the  seams 

Of  his  rent  heart  so  hard  and  cold  a  creed 

Had  seared  with  blistering  ice — but  he  misdeems 

That  he  is  wise,  whose  wounds  do  only  bleed 

Inlv  for  self;  thus  thought  the  Iberian  Priest  indeed: 


238  THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM. 

And  others,  too,  thought  he  was  wise  to  see, 

In  pain,  and  fear,  and  hate,  something  divine ; 

In  love  and  beauty — no  divinity. — 

Now  with  a  bitter  smile,  whose  light  did  shine 

Like  a  fiend's  hope  upon  his  lips  and  eyne, 

He  said,  and  the  persuasion  of  that  sneer 

Rallied  his  trembling  comrades — "  Is  it  mine 

To  stand  alone  when  kings  and  soldiers  fear 

A  woman  ?   Heaven  has  sent  its  other  victim  here." 

"Were  it  not  impious,"  said  the  King,  "to  break 
Our  holy  oath  ?" — "  Impious  to  keep  it,  say!" 
Shrieked  the  exulting  Priest: — "  Slaves,  to  the  stake 
Bind  her,  and  on  my  head  the  burthen  lay 
Of  her  just  torments: — at  the  Judgment  Day 
Will  I  stand  up  before  the  golden  throne 
Of  Heaven,  and  cry,  to  thee  I  did  betray 
An  Infidel !  but  for  me  she  would  have  known 
Another  moment's  joy  ! — the  glory  be  thine  own." 

They  trembled,  but  replied  not,  nor  obeyed, 

Pausing  in  breathless  silence.     Cythna  sprang 

From  her  gigantic  steed,  who,  like  a  shade 

Chased  by  the  winds,  those  vacant  streets  among 

Fled  tameless,  as  the  brazen  rein  she  flung 

Upon  his  neck,  and  kissed  his  mooned  brow. 

A  piteous  sight,  that  one  so  fair  and  young 

The  clasp  of  such  a  fearful  death  should  woo 

With  smiles  of  tender  joy  as  beamed  from  Cythna  now. 

The  warm  tears  burst  in  spite  of  faith  and  fear 

From  many  a  tremulous  eye,  but,  like  soft  dews 

Which  feed  spring's  earliest  buds,  hung  gathered  there, 

Frozen  by  doubt, — alas  !  they  could  not  choose 

But  weep  ;  for,  when  her  faint  limbs  did  refuse 

To  climb  the  pyre,  upon  the  mutes  she  smiled  ; 

And  with  her  eloquent  gestures  and  the  hues 

Of  her  quick  lips,  even  as  a  weary  child 

Wins  sleep  from  some  fond  nurse  with  its  caresses  mild, 

She  won  them,  though  unwilling,  her  to  bind 

Near  me,  among  the  snakes.     When  then  had  fled 

One  soft  reproach  that  was  most  thrilling  kind, 

She  smiled  on  me,  and  nothing  then  we  said, 

But  each  upon  the  other's  countenance  fed 

Looks  of  insatiate  love  ;  the  mighty  veil 

Which  doth  divide  the  living  and  the  dead 

Was  almost  rent,  the  world  grew  dim  and  pale, — 

All  light  in  Heaven  or  Earth  beside  our  love  did  fail.— 


THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM.  239 

Yet, — yet — one  brief  relapse,  like  the  Inst  beam 
Of  dying  flames,  the  stainless  air  around 
Hung  silent  and  serene. — A  blood-red  gleam 
Burst  upwards,  hurling  fiercely  from  the  ground 
The  globed  smoke. — I  heard  the  mighty  sound 
Of  its  uprise,  like  a  tempestuous  ocean  ; 
And,  through  its  chasms  I  saw,  as  in  a  swound, 
The  tyrant's  child  fall  without  life  or  motion 
Before  his  throne,  subdued  by  some  unseen  emotion. 

And  is  this  death  ?  The  pyre  has  disappeared, 
The  Pestilence,  the  Tyrant,  and  the  throng  ; 
The  flames  grow  silent — slowly  there  is  heard 
The  music  of  a  breath-suspending  song, 
Which,  like  the  kiss  of  love  when  life  is  young, 
Steeps  the  faint  eyes  in  darkness  sweet  and  deep ; 
With  ever  changing  notes  it  floats  along, 
Till  on  my  passive  soul  there  seemed  to  creep 
A  melody  like  waves  on  wrinkled  sands  that  leap. 

The  warm  touch  of  a  soft  and  tremulous  hand 

Wakened  me  then  ;  lo,  Cythna  sate  reclined 

Beside  me,  on  the  waved  and  golden  sand 

Of  a  clear  pool,  upon  a  bank  o'ertwined 

With  strange  and  star-bright  flowers,  which  to  the  wind 

Breathed  divine  odour ;  high  above,  was  spread 

The  emerald  heaven  of  trees  of  unknown  kind, 

Whose  moonlight  blooms  and  bright  fruit  overhead 

A  shadow,  which  was  light,  upon  the  waters  shed. 

And  round  about  sloped  many  a  lawny  mountain 

With  incense-bearing  forests,  and  vast  caves 

Of  marble-radiance  to  that  mighty  fountain  ; 

And,  where  the  flood  its  own  bright  margin  laves, 

Their  echoes  talk  with  its  eternal  waves, 

Which,  from  the  depths  whose  jagged  caverns  breed 

Their  unreposing  strife,  it  lifts  and  heaves, 

Till  through  a  chasm  of  hills  they  roll,  and  feed 

A  river  deep,  which  flies  with  smooth  but  arrowy  speed. 

As  we  sate  gazing  in  a  trance  of  wonder, 
A  boat  approached,  borne  by  the  musical  air 
Along  the  waves  which  sung  and  sparkled  under 
Its  rapid  keei — a  winged  shape  sate  there, 
A  child  with  silver-shining  wings,  so  fair, 
That,  as  her  bark  did  through  the  waters  glide, 
The  shadow  of  the  lingering  waves  did  wear 
Light,  as  from  starry  beams  ;  from  side  to  side, 
While  veering  to  the  wind,  her  plumes  the  bark  did  guide* 
21* 


BSD  THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM. 

I  he  boat  was  one  curved  shell  of  hollow  pearl, 
Almost  translucent  with  the  light  divine 
Of  her  within  ;  the  prow  and  stern  did  curl, 
Horned  on  high,  like  the  young  moon  supine, 
When,  o'er  dim  twilight  mountains  dark  with  pine, 
It  lloats  upon  the  sunset's  sea  of  beams, 
Whose  golden  waves  in  many  a  purple  line 
Fadi!  last,  till,  borne  on  sun-light's  ebbing  streams, 
Dilating,  on  earth's  verge  the  sunken  meteor  gleams. 

Its  keel  has  struck  the  sands  beside  our  feet; — 

Then  Cythna  turned  to  me,  and  from  her  eyes, 

Which  swam  with  unshed  tears,  a  look  more  sweet 

Than  happy  love,  a  wild  and  glad  surprise, 

Glanced  as  she  spake:  "  Aye,  this  is  Paradise 

And  not  a  dream,  and  we  are  all  united ! 

Lo,  that  is  mine  own  child,  who,  in  the  guise 

Of  madness,  came  like  day  to  one  benighted 

In  lonesome  woods  :  my  heart  is  now  too  well  requited  I" 

And  then  she  wept  aloud,  and  in  her  arms 
Clasped  that  bright  Shape,  less  marvellously  fair 
Than  her  own  human  hues  and  living  charms ; 
Which,  as  she  leaned  in  passion's  silence  there, 
Breathed  warmth  on  the  cold  bosom  of  the  air, 
Which  seem?d  to  blush  and  tremble  with  delight ; 
The  glossy  darkness  of  her  streaming  hair 
Fell  o'er  that  snowy  child,  and  wTapt  from  sight 
The  fond  and  long  embrace  which  did  their  hearts  unite. 

Then  the  bright  child,  the  plumed  Seraph,  came, 
And  fixed  its  blue  and  beaming  eyes  on  mine, 
And  said,  "  I  was  disturbed  by  tremulous  shame 
When  once  we  met,  yet  knew  that  I  was  thine 
From  the  same  hour  in  which  thy  lips  divine 
Kindled  a  clinging  dream  within  my  brain, 
Which  ever  waked  when  I  might  sleep,  to  twine 
Thine  image  with  her  memory  dear — again 
We  meet ;  exempted  now  from  mortal  fear  or  pain. 

"When  the  consuming  flames  had  wrapt  ye  round, 

The  hope  which  I  had  cherished  went  away; 

I  fell  in  agony  on  the  senseless  ground, 

And  hid  mine  eyes  in  dust,  and  far  astray 

My  mind  was  gone,  when  bright,  like  dawning  day, 

The  Spectre  of  the  Plague  before  me  Hew, 

And  breathed  upon  my  lips,  and  seemed  to  say, 

'They  wait  fc»  vnee,  beloved!' — Then  I  knew 

The  death  mark  on  my  breast,  and  became  calm  anew. 


THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM.  241 

"  It  was  the  calm  of  love — for  I  was  dying. 

I  saw  the  black  and  half-extinguished  pyre 

In  its  own  grey  and  shrunken  ashes  lying ; 

The  pitchy  smoke  of  the  departed  fire 

Still  hung  in  many  a  hollow  dome  and  spire 

Above  the  towers,  like  night ;  beneath  whose  shade, 

Awed  by  the  ending  of  their  own  desire, 

The  armies  stood  ;  a  vacancy  was  made 

In  expectation's  depth,  and  so  they  stood  dismayed. 

"The  frightful  silence  of  that  altered  mood, 
The  tortures  of  the  dying  clove  alone, 
Till  one  uprose  among  the  multitude, 
And  said — '  the  flood  of  time  is  rolling  on, 
We  stand  upon  its  brink,  whilst  they  are  gone 
To  glide  in  peace  down  death's  mysterious  stream. 
Have  ye  done  well  I  They  moulder  flesh  and  bone, 
Who  might  have  made  this  life's  envenomed  dream 
A  sweeter  draught  than  ye  will  ever  taste,  I  deem. 

"'These  perish  as  the  good  and  great  of  yore 
Have  perished,  and  their  murderers  will  repent. 
Yes,  vain  and  barren  tears  shall  flow  before 
Yon  smoke  has  faded  from  the  firmament ; 
Even  for  this  cause,  that  ye,  who  must  lament 
The  death  of  those  that  made  this  world  so  fair, 
Cannot  recall  them  now ;  but  then  is  lent 
To  ma*n  the  wisdom  of  a  high  despair 
When  such  can  die,  and  he  live  on  and  linger  here. 

'"Aye,  ye  may  fear  not  now  the  Pestilence, 

From  fabled  hell  as  by  a  charm  withdrawn  ; 

All  power  and  faith  must  pass,  since  calmly  hence 

In  pain  and  fire  have  unbelievers  gone  ; 

And  ye  must  sadly  turn  away,  and  moan 

In  secret,  to  his  home  each  one  returning ; 

And  to  long  ages  shall  this  hour  be  known  ; 

And  slowly  shall  its  memory,  ever  burning, 

Fill  this  dark  night  of  things  with  an  eternal  morning. 

" '  For  me  the  world  is  grown  too  void  and  cold, 

Since  hope  pursues  immortal  destiny 

With  steps  thus  slow — therefore  shall  ye  behold 

How  those  who  love,  yet  fear  not,  dare  to  die  ; 

Tell  to  your  children  this  !'  Then  suddenly 

He  sheathed  a  dagger  in  his  heart,  and  fell ; 

My  brain  grew  dark  in  death,  and  yet  to  me 

There  came  a  murmur  from  the  crowd,  to  teil 

Of  deep  and  mighty  change  which  suddenly  bei'ell. 


242  THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM. 

"Then  suddenly  I  stood  a  winged  Thought 

Before  the  immortal  Senate,  and  the  seat 

Of  that  star-shining  spirit,  whence  is  wrought 

The  strength  of  its  dominion,  good  and  great, 

The  better  Genius  of  this  world's  estate. 

His  realm  around  one  mighty  Fane  is  spread, 

Elysian  islands  bright  and  fortunate, 

Calm  dwellings  of  the  free  and  happy  dead, 

Where  I  am  sent  to  lead!"  These  winged  words  she  said, 

And  with  the  silence  of  her  eloquent  smile 

Bade  us  embark  in  her  divine  canoe ; 

Then  at  the  helm  we  took  our  seat,  the  while 

Above  her  head  those  plumes  of  dazzling  hue 

Into  the  winds'  invisible  stream  she  threw, 

Sitting  beside  the  prow:  like  gossamer, 

On  the  swift  breath  of  morn,  the  vessel  flew 

O'er  the  bright  whirlpools  of  that  fountain  fair, 

Whose  shores  receded  fast,  while  we  seemed  lingering  there ; 

Till  down  that  mighty  stream,  dark,  calm,  and  fleet, 
Between  a  chasm  of  cedar  mountains  riven, 
Chased  by  the  thronging  winds,  whose  viewless  feet, 
As  swift  as  twinkling  beams,  had,  under  Heaven, 
From  woods  and  waves  wild  sounds  and  odours  driven, 
The  boat  flew  visibly. — Three  nights  and  days, 
Borne  like  a  cloud  through  morn,  and  noon,  and  even, 
We  sailed  along  the  winding  watery  ways 
Of  the  vast  stream, — a  long  and  labyrinthine  maze. 

A  scene  of  joy  and  wonder  to  behold 

That  river's  shapes  and  shadows  changing  ever, 

Where  the  broad  sunrise,  tilled  with  deepening  gold 

Its  whirlpools,  where  all  hues  did  spread  and  quiver, 

And  where  melodious  falls  did  burst  and  shiver 

Among  rocks  clad  with  flowers,  the  foam  and  spray 

Sparkled  like  stars  upon  the  sunny  river, 

Or  when  the  moonlight  poured  a  holier  day, 

One  vast  and  glittering  lake  around  green  islands  lay. 

Morn,  noon,  and  even,  that  boat  of  pearl  outran 

The  streams  which  bore  it,  like  the  arrowy  cloud 

Of  tempest,  or  the  speedier  thought  of  man, 

Which  flieth  forth  and  cannot  make  abode ; 

Sometimes  through  forests,  deep  like  night,  we  glode, 

Between  the  walls  of  mighty  mountains  crowned 

With  Cyclopean  piles,  whose  turrets  proud, 

The  homes  of  the  departed,  dimly  frowned 

O'er  the  bright  waves  which  gin  their  dark  foundations  round. 


1 


THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM.  243 

Sometimes  between  the  wide  and  flowering  meadows, 

Mile  after  mile  we  sailed,  and  'twas  delight 

To  see  far  off  the  sunbeams  chase  the  shadows 

Over  the  grass.     Sometimes  beneath  the  night 

Of  wide  and  vaulted  caves,  whose  roofs  were  bright 

With  starry  gems,  we  fled  whilst,  from  their  deep 

And  dark-green  chasms,  shades,  beautiful  and  white, 

Amid  sweet  sounds  across  our  path  would  sweep, 

Like  swift  and  lovely  dreams  that  walk  the  waves  of  sleep. 

And  ever  as  we  sailed,  our  minds  were  full 

Of  love  and  wisdom,  which  would  overflow 

In  converse  wild,  and  sweet  and  wonderful ; 

And  in  quick  smiles  whose  light  would  come  and  go, 

Like  music  o'er  wide  waves,  and  in  the  flow 

Of  sudden  tears,  and  in  the  mute  caress — ■ 

For  a  deep  shade  was  cleft,  and  we  did  know, 

That  virtue,  though  obscured  on  Earth,  not  less 

Survives  all  mortal  change  in  lasting  loveliness, 

Three  days  and  nights  we  sailed,  as  thought  and  feeling 

Number  delightful  hours — for  through  the  sky 

The  sphered  lamps  of  day  and  night,  revealing 

New  changes  and  new  glories,  rolled  on  high, 

Sun,  Moon,  and  moonlike  lamps,  the  progeny 

Of  a  diviner  Heaven,  serene  and  fair: 

On  the  fourth  day,  wild  as  a  wind-wrought  sea, 

The  stream  became,  and  fast  and  faster  bare 

The  spirit-winged  boat,  steadily  speeding  there. 

Steadily  and  swiff,  where  the  waves  rolled  like  mountains 
Within  the  vast  ravine,  whose  rifts  did  pour 
Tumultuous  floods  from  their  ten  thousand  fountains, 
The  thunder  of  whose  earth -uplifting  roar 
Made  the  air  sweep  in  whirlwinds  from  the  shore. 
Calm  as  a  shade,  the  boat  of  that  fair  child 
Securely  fled,  that  rapid  stress  before, 
Amid  the  topmast  spray,  and  sunbows  wild, 
Wreathed  in  the  silver  mist:  in  joy  and  pride  we  smiled. 

The  torrent  of  that  wide  and  raging  river, 
Is  past,  and  our  aerial  speed  suspended. 
We  look  behind,  a  golden  mist  did  quiver 
When  its  wild  surges  with  the  lake  were  blended  : 
Our  bark  hung  there,  as  one  line  suspended 
Between  two  heavens,  that  windless  waveless  lake  ; 
Which  four  great  cataracts  from  four  vales,  attended 
By  mists,  aye  feed,  from  rocks  and  clouds  tb^v  break, 
And  of  that  azure  sea  a  silent  refuge  make 


244  THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM. 

Motionless,  resting  on  the  lake  awhile, 

I  saw  its  marge  of  snow-bright  mountains  rear 

Their  peaks  aloft.     I  saw  each  radiant  isle, 

And  in  the  midst,  afar,  even  like  a  sphere 

Hung  in  one  hollow  sky,  did  there  appear 

The  Temple  of  the  Spirit ;  on  the  sound 

Which  issued  thence,  drawn  nearer  and  more  near. 

Like  the  swift  moon  this  glorious  earth  around, 

The  charmed  boat  approached,  and  there  its  haven  found. 


EKI)   OF   THE   REVOLT    OF    ISLAM. 


PKOMETHEUS    UNBOUND. 

A  LYRICAL  DRAMA. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 


Prometheus. 

Demogorgon. 

Jupiter. 

The  Earth. 

Ocean. 

Apollo. 

Mercury. 

Hercules. 


Asia.  A 

Pantiiea.    V    Oceanides. 
Ione.  j 

The  Phantasm  of  Jupiter. 
The  Spirit  of  the  Earth. 
The  Spirit  of  the  Moon 
Spirits  of  the  Hours. 
Spirits.    Echoes.    Fauns.  &c. 


ACT  I. 

Scene,  a  Ravine  of  Icy  Rocks  in  the  Indian  Caucasus.  Pro- 
metheus is  discovered  bound  to  the  Precipice.  Panthea 
and  Ione  are  seated  at  his  feet.  Time,  Night.  During  the 
Scene,  Morning  slowly  breaks. 

Pro.  Monarch  of  Gods  and  Demons,  and  all  Spirits 
But  One,  who  throng  those  bright  and  rolling  worlds 
Which  Thou  and  I  alone  of  living  things 
Behold  with  sleepless  eyes!  regard  this  Earth, 
Made  multitudinous  with  thy  slaves,  whom  thou 
Requitest  for  knee-worship,  prayer  and  praise, 
And  toil,  and  hecatombs  of  broken  hearts, 
With  fear  and  self-contempt  and  barren  hope. 
Whilst  me,  who  am  thy  foe,  eyeless  in  hate, 
Hast  thou  made  reign  and  triumph,  to  thy  scorn, 
O'er  mine  own  misery  and  thy  vain  revenge. 
Three  thousand  years  of  sleep-unsheltered  hours, 
And  moments  aye  divided  by  keen  pangs 
Till  they  seemed  years,  torture  and  solitude, 
Scorn  and  despair, — these  are  mine  empire. 
More  glorious  far  than  that  which  thou  surveyest 
From  thine  unenvied  throne,  O  Mighty  God  ! 
Almighty,  had  I  deigned   to  share  the  shame 
Of  thine  ill  tyranny,  and  hung  not  here 
Nailed  to  this  wall  of  eagle-baffling  mountain, 
Black,  wintry,  dead,  unmeasured  ;  without  herb, 
Insec,  or  beast,  or  shape,  or  sound  of  life. 
Ah  me,  alas!  pain,  pain  ever,  for  ever! 


246  PROMETHEUS  UNBOUND. 

No  change,  no  pause,  no  hope  !     Yet  I  enduie. 
I  ask  the  Earth,  have  not  the  mountains  felt? 
I  ask  yon  Heaven,  the  all-beholding  Sun, 
Has  it  not  seen  ?      The  Sea,  in  storm  or  calm, 
Heaven's  ever-changing  Shadow,  spread  below, 
Have  its  deaf  waves  not  heard  my  agony  ? 
Ah  me !    alas,  pain,  pain  ever,  for  ever  ! 

The  crawling  glaciers  pierce  me  with  the  spears 

Of  their  moon-freezing  chrystals  ;  the  bright  chains 

Eat  with  their  burning  cold  into  my  bones. 

Heaven's  winged  hound,  polluting  from  thy  lips 

His  beak  in  poison  not  his  own,  tears  up 

My  heart ;  and  shapeless  sights  come  wandering  by, 

The  ghastly  people  of  the  realm  of  dream, 

Mocking  me  :  and  the  Earthquake-fiends  are  charged 

To  wrench  the  rivets  from  my  quivering  wounds 

When  the  rocks  split  and  close  again  behind: 

While  from  their  loud  abysses  howling  throng 

The  genii  of  the  storm,  urging  the  rage 

Of  whirlwind,  and  afflict  me  with  keen  hail; 

And  yet  to  me  welcome  is  day  and  night, 

Whether  one  breaks  the  hoar  frost  of  the  morn, 

Or  starry,  dim,  and  slow,  the  other  climbs 

The  leaden-coloured  east :  for  then  they  lead 

The  wingless  crawling  hours,  one  among  whom 

— As  some  Dark  Priest  hales  the  reluctant  victim — 

Shall  drag  thee,  cruel  King,  to  kiss  the  blood 

From  these  pale  feet,  which  then  might  trample  thee 

If  they  disdained  not  such  a  prostrate  slave. 

Disdain  !  ah  no  !  I  pity  thee.     What  ruin 

Will  hunt  thee  undefended  through  the  wide  Heaven ! 

How  will  thy  soul,  cloven  to  its  depth  with  terror, 

Gape  like  a  hell  within  !   I  speak  in  grie£. 

Not  exultation,  for  I  hate  no  more, 

As  then  ere  misery  made  me  wise.     The  curse 

Once  breathed  on  thee  I  would  recall.     Ye  Mountains, 

Whose  many-voiced  Echoes,  through  the  mist 

Of  cataracts,  flung  the  thunder  of  that  spell ! 

Ye  icy  Springs,  stagnant  with  wrinkling  frost, 

Which  vibrated  to  hear  me,  and  then  crept 

Shuddering  thro'  India!      Thou  serenest  Air, 

Through  which  the  Sun  walks  burning  without  beams; 

And  ye,  swift  Whirlwinds,  who  on  poised  wings 

Hung  mute  and  moveless  o'er  yon  hushed  abyss, 

As  thunder,  louder  than  your  own,  made  rock 

The  orbed  world !     If  then  my  words  had  power, 

Though  I  am  changed  so  that  aught  evil  wish 

Is  dead  within  ;  although  no  memory  be 

Of  what  is  hate,  let  them  not  lose  it  now  ! 

What  was  that  curse  ?  for  ye  all  heard  me  speak. 


PROMETHEUS  UNBOUND.  247 

First  Voice  :  (from  the  mountains.) 
Thrice  three  hundred  thousand  years 

O'er  the  Earthquake's  couch  we  stood  : 
Oft,  as  men  convulsed  with  fears, 

We  trembled  in  our  multitude. 

Second  Voice :  (from  the  springs.) 
Thunder-bolts  had  parched  our  water, 

We  had  been  stained  with  bitter  blood, 
And  had  run  mute,  'mid  shrieks  of  slaughter, 

Through  a  city  and  a  solitude. 

Third  Voice  :  (from  the  air.) 
I  had  clothed,  since  earth  uprose, 

Its  wastes  in  coloui-s  not  their  own  ; 
And  oft  had  my  serene  repose 

Been  cloven  by  many  a  rending  groan. 

Fourth  Voice  :  (from  the  ivhirlwinds.) 
We  had  soared  beneath  these  mountains 

Unresting  ages ;  nor  had  thunder, 
Nor  yon  volcano's  flaming  fountains, 

Nor  any  power  above  or  under, 

Ever  made  us  mute  with  wonder. 

First  Voice. 
But  never  bowed  our  snowy  crest 
As  at  the  voice  of  thine  unrest. 

Second  Voice. 
Never  such  a  sound  before 
To  the  Indian  waves  we  bore. 
A  pilot  asleep  on  the  howling  sea 
Leaped  up  from  the  deck  in  agony, 
And  heard,  and  cried,  "  Ah,  woe  is  me  !" 
And  died  as  mad  as  the  wild  waves  be. 

Third  Voice. 
By  such  dread  words  from  Earth  to  Heaven 
My  still  realm  was  never  riven : 
When  its  wound  was  closed,  there  stood 
Darkness  o'er  the  day  like  blood. 

Fourth  Voice. 
And  we  shrank  back :  for  dreams  of  ruin 
To  frozen  caves  our  flight  pursuing 
Made  us  keep  silence — thus — and  thus — ■ 
Though  silence  is  as  hell  to  us. 

The  Earth.     The  tongueless  caverns  of  the  craggy  hills 
Cried,  "Misery!  "  then;  the  hollow  Heaven  replied, 
"Misery!"  And  the  Ocean's  purple  waves, 
22 


248  PROMETHEUS  UNBOUND. 

Climbing  the  land,  howled  to  the  lashing  winds, 
And  the  pale  nations  heard  it,  "Misery!" 

Pro.  I  hear  a  sound  of  voices  :  not  the  voice 
Which  I  gave  forth.      Mother,  thy  sons,  and  thou 
Scorn  him,  without  whose  all-enduring  will 
Beneath  the  fierce  omnipotence  of  Jove, 
Both  they  and  thou  had  vanished,  like  thin  mist 
Unrolled  on  the  morning  wind.     Know  ye  not  me, 
The  Titan  ?     He  who  made  his  agony 
The  barrier  to  your  else  all-conquering  foe  ? 
Oh,  rock-embosomed  lawns,  and  snow  fed  streams, 
Now  seen  athwart  frore  vapours,  deep  below, 
Thro'  whose  o'ershadowing  woods  I  wandered  once 
With  Asia,  drinking  life  from  her  loved  eyes; 
Why  scorns  the  spirit  which  informs  ye,  now 
To  commune  with  me  ?  me  alone,  who  check'd, 
As  one  who  checks  a  fiend-drawn  charioteer, 
The  falsehood  and  the  force  of  him  who  reigns 
Supreme,  and  with  the  groans  of  pining  slaves 
Fills  your  dim  glens  and  liquid  wildernesses: 
Why  answer  ye  not,  still?     Brethren! 

The  Earth.     They  dare  not. 

Pro.  Who  dares?  for  I  would  hear  that  curse  again. 
Ha !  what  an  awful  whisper  rises  up! 
'Tis  scarce  like  sound  :  it  tingles  thro'  the  frame 
As  lightning  tingles,  hovering  ere  it  strike. 
Speak,  Spirit !  from  thine  inorganic  voice 
I  only  know  that  thou  art  moving  near 
And  love.     How  cursed  I  him  ? 

The  Earth.     How  canst  thou  hear 
Who  knowest  not  the  language  of  the  dead? 

Pro.     Thou  art  a  living  spirit:  speak  as  they.  [KinK] 

The  Earth.     I  dare  not  speak  like  life,  lest  Heaven's  fell 
Should  hear,  and  link  me  to  some  wheel  of  pain 
More  torturing  than  the  one  whereon  I  roll. 
Subtle  thou  art  and  good,  and  tho'  the  Gods 
Hear  not  his  voice,  yet  thou  art  more  than  God, 
Being  wise  and  kind  :  earnestly  hearken  now. 

Pro.     Obscurely  thro'  my  brain,  like  shadows  dim, 
Sweep  awful  thoughts,  rapid  and  thick.     I  feel 
Faint,  like  one  mingled  in  entwining  love, 
Vet  'tis  not  pleasure. 

The  Earth.     No,  thou  canst  not  hear: 
Thou  art  immortal,  and  this  tongue  is  known 
Only  to  those  who  die. 

Pro.     And  what  art  thou, 
O  melancholy  voice  ? 

The  Earth.     I  am  the  earth, 
Thy  mother;  she  within  whose  stony  veins, 
To  the  last  fibre  of  the  loftiest  tree 


PROMETHEUS  UNBOUND.  249 

Whose  thin  leaves  tremble  in  the  frozen  air, 

Joy  ran,  as  blood  within  a  living  frame, 

When  thou  didst  from  her  bosom, like  a  cloud 

Of  glory,  arise,  a  spirit  of  keen  joy ! 

And  at  thy  voice  her  pining  sons  uplifted 

Their  prostrate  brows  from  the  polluting  dust, 

And  our  almighty  Tyrant  with  fierce  dread 

Grew  pale,  until  his  thunder  chained  thee  here. 

Then,  see  those  million  worlds  which  burn  and  roll 

Around  us :  their  inhabitants  beheld 

My  sphered  light  wane  in  wide  Heaven  ;  the  sea 

Was  lifted  by  strange  tempest,  and  new  fire 

From  earthquake-grift ed  mountains  of  bright  snow 

Shook  its  portentous  hair  beneath  Heaven's  frown; 

Lightning  and  Inundation  vexed  the  plains ; 

Blue  thistles  bloomed  in  cities ;  foodless  toads 

Within  volutpuous  chambers  panting  crawled  : 

When  Plague  had  fallen  on  man  and  beast,  and  worm 

And  Famine;  and  black  blight  on  herb  and  dree; 

And  in  the  corn,  and  vines,  and  meadow  grass, 

Teemed  in  eradicable  poisonous  weeds 

Draining  their  growth,  for  my  wan  breast  was  dry 

W  ith  grief  j  and  the  thin  air,  my  breath,  was  stained 

With  the  contagion  of  a  mother's  hate 

Breathed  on  her  child's  destroyer ;  aye,  I  heard 

Thy  curse,  the  which,  if  thou  rememberest  not, 

Yet  my  innumerable  seas  and  streams, 

Mountains,  and  caves,  and  winds,  and  yon  wide  air, 

And  the  inarticulate  people  of  the  dead, 

Preserve,  a  treasured  spell.     We  meditate 

In  secret  joy  and  hope  those  dreadful  words, 

But  dare  not  speak  them. 

Pro.     Venerable  mother ! 
All  else  who  live  and  suffer  take  from  thee 
Some  comfort;  flowers,  and  fruits,  and  happy  sounds, 
And  love,  though  fleeting;  these  may  not  be  mine, 
But  mine  cwn  words,  I  pray,  deny  me  not. 

The  Earth.     They  shall  be  told.     Ere  Babylon  was  dust, 
The  Magus  Zoroaster,  my  dead  child, 
Met  his  own  image  walking  in  the  garden. 
That  apparition,  sole  of  men,  he  saw. 
For  know  there  are  two  worlds  of  life  and  death. 
One,  that  which  thou  beholdest;  but  the  other 
Is  underneath  the  grave,  where  do  inhabit 
The  shadows  of  all  forms  that  think  and  live 
Till  death  unite  them  and  they  part  no  more ; 
Dreams  and  the  light  imaginings  of  men, 
And  all  that  faith  creates  or  love  desires 
Terrible,  strange,  sublime,  and  beauteous  shapes. 
There  thou  art,  and  dost  banc,  a  writhing  shade, 


250  PROMETHEUS  UNBOUND. 

*Mid  whirlwind-peopled  mountains  ;  all  the  gods 

Are  there,  and  all  the  powers  of  nameless  worlds, 

Vast,  sceptred  phantoms;  heroes,  men,  and  beasts; 

And  DemogorgoYi,  a  tremendous  gloom; 

And  he,  the  supreme  Tyrant,  on  his  throne 

Of  burning  gold.     Son,  one  of  these  shall  utter 

The  curse  which  all  remember.     Call  at  will 

Thine  own  ghost,  or  the  ghost  of  Jupiter, 

Hades,  or  Typhon,  or  what  mightier  Gods 

From  all-prolific  Evil  since  thy  ruin 

Have  sprung,  and  trampled  on  my  prostrate  sons, 

Ask,  and  they  must  reply :  so  the  revenge 

Of  the  Supreme  may  sweep  thro'  vacant  shades 

As  rainy  wind  thro'  the  abandoned  gate 

Of  a  fallen  palace. 

Pro.     Mother,  let  not  aught 
Of  that  which  may  be  evil  pass  again 
My  lips,  or  those  of  aught,  resembling  me. 
Phantasm  of  Jupiter,  arise,  appear ! 

lone.  My  wings  are  folded  o'er  mine  ears  : 
My  wings  are  crossed  o'er  mine  eyes : 
Yet  thro'  their  silver  shade  appears 

And  thro'  their  lulling  plumes  arise, 
A  shape,  a  throng  of  sounds  ; 

May  it  be  no  ill  to  thee, 
O  thou  of  many  wounds  ! 
Near  whom,  for  our  sweet  sister's  sake, 
Ever  thus  we  watch  and  wake. 

Pan.  The  sound  is  of  whirlwind  underground, 

Earthquake,  and  fire,  and  mountains  cloven; 
The  shape  is  awful  like  the  sound, 

Clothed  in  dark  purple,  star-inwoven. 
A  sceptre  of  pale  gold 

To  stay  steps  proud,  o'er  the  slow  cloud 
His  veined  hand  doth  hold. 
Cruel  he  looks,  but  calm  and  strong, 
Like  one  who  does,  not  suffers  wrong. 

Phantasm  of  Jupiter.  Why  have  the  secret  powers  of  this 
strange  world 
Driven  me,  a  frail  and  empty  phantom,  hither 
On  direst  storms  ?     What  unaccustomed  sounds 
Are  hovering  on  my  lips,  unlike  the  voice 
With  which  our  pallid  race  hold  ghastly  talk 
In  darkness  ?     And,  proud  sufferer,  who  art  thou  ? 

Pro.  Tremendous  Image!  as  thou  art  must  be 
He  whom  thou  shadowest  forth.     I  am  his  foe, 
The  Titan.     Speak  the  words  which  I  would  hear, 


PROMETHEUS  UNBOUND.  251 

Although  no  thought  inform  thine  empty  voice. 

The  Earth.  Listen  !  And  tho*  your  echoes  must  be  mute 
Grey  mountains,  and  old  woods,  and  haunted  springs, 
Prophetic  caves,  and  isle-surrounding  streams, 
Rejoice  to  hear  what  yet  ye  cannot  speak. 

Phan.  A  spirit  seizes  me  and  speaks  within. 
It  tears  me  as  fire  tears  a  thunder-cloud. 

Pan.    See,  how  he  lifts    his  mighty  looks  1    the    Heaven 
Darkens  above. 

lone.  He  speaks  !  O  shelter  me ! 

Pro.  I  see  the  curse  on  gestures  proud  and  cold, 
And  looks  of  firm  defiance,  and  calm  hate, 
And  such  despair  as  mocks  itself  with  smiles, 
Written  as  on  a  scroll :  yet  speak :  Oh,  speak ! 

Phantasm.  Fiend,  I  defy  thee  !  With  a  calm,  fixed  mind, 
All  that  thou  canst  inflict  I  bid  thee  do ; 
Foul  Tyrant  both  of  Gods  and  Human-kind, 

One  only  being  shalt  thou  not  subdue. 
Rain  then  thy  plagues  upon  me  here, 
Ghastly  disease,  and  frenzying  fear ; 
And  let  alternate  frost  and  fire 
Eat  into  me,  and  be  thine  ire 
Lightning,  and  cutting  hail,  and  legioned  forms 
Of  furies,  driving  by  upon  the  wounding  storms. 

Aye,  do  thy  worst.     Thou  art  omnipotent. 
O'er  all  things  but  thyself  I  gave  thee  power, 

And  my  own  will.     Be  thy  swift  mischiefs  sent 
To  blast  mankind,  from  yon  ethereal  tower. 

Let  thy  malignant  spirit  move 

In  darkness  over  those  I  love : 

On  me  and  mine  I  imprecate 

The  utmost  torture  of  thy  hate  ; 
And  thus  devote  to  sleepless  agony, 
This  undeclining  head  while  thou  must  reign  on  high. 

But  thou,  who  art  the  God  and  Lord:  O  thou 
Who  fillest  with  thy  soul  this  world  of  woe, 

To  whom  all  things  of  Earth  and  Heaven  do  bow 
In  fear  and  worship  :  all -prevailing  foe  i 

I  curse  thee  !  Let  a  sufferer's  curse 

Clasp  thee,  his  torturer,  like  remorse; 

'Till  thine  Infinity  shall  be 

A  robe  of  envenomed  agony, 
And  thine  Omnipotence  a  crown  of  pain, 
To  cling  like  burning  gold  round  thy  dissolving  brain. 

Heap  on  thy  soul,  by  virtue  of  this  Curse, 


252  PROMETHEUS  UNBOUND. 

Ill  deeds,  then  be  thou  damned,  beholding  good ; 
Both  infinite  as  is  the  universe, 

And  thou,  and  thy  self- torturing  solitude. 
An  awful  image  of  calm  power 

Though  now  thou  sittest,  let  the  hour 
Come,  when  thou  must  appear  to  be 
That  which  thou  art  internally. 
And  after  many  a  false  and  fruitless  crime 
Scorn  track  thy  lagging  fall  through  boundless  space  and  time. 

Pro.  Were  these  my  words,  O  Parent  1 
The  Earth.  They  were  thine 

Pro.  It  doth  repent  me  :  words  are  quick  and  vain  ; 
Grief  for  awhile  is  blind,  and  so  was  mine. 
I  wish  no  living  thing  to  suffer  pain. 

The  Earth.  Misery,  O  misery  to  me, 
That  Jove  at  length  should  vanquish  thee. 
Wail,  howl  aloud,  Land  and  Sea, 
The  Earth's  rent  heart  shall  answer  ye. 
Howl,  Spirits  of  the  living  and  the  dead, 
Your  refuge,  your  defence,  lies  fallen  and  vanquished. 
First  Echo.  Lies  fallen  and  vanquished ! 
Second  Echo.   Fallen  and  vanquished  ! 
lone.  Fear  not:  'tis  but  some  passing  spasm, 
The  Titan  is  unvanquished  still. 
But  see,  where,  through  the  azure  chasm 

Of  yon  forked  and  snowy  hill, 
Trampling  the  slant  winds  on  high 

With  golden-sandalled  feet,  that  glow 
Under  plumes  of  purple  dye, 
Like  rose-ensanguined  ivory, 

A  Shape  comes  now, 
Stretching  on  high  from  his  right  hand 
A  serpent-cinctured  wand. 
Pan.  "lis  Jove's  world-wandering  herald,  Mercury. 
lone.  And  who  are  those  with  hydra  tresses 
And  iron  wings  that  climb  the  wind, 
Whom  the  frowning  God  represses 

Like  vapours  steaming  up  behind, 
Clanging  loud,  an  endless  crowd — 
Pan.  These  are  Jove's  tempest- walking  hounds, 
Whom  he  gluts  with  groans  and  blood, 
When  charioted  on  sulphurous  cloud 
He  bursts  Heaven's  bounds. 
lone.  Are  they  now  led,  from  the  thin  dead 

On  new  pangs  to  be  fed  ? 
Pan.  The  Titan  looks,  as  ever,  firm,  not  proud. 


PROMETHEUS  UNBOUND.  253 

First  Fury.  Ha !   I  scent  life  ! 

Second  Fury.  Let  me  but  look  into  his  eyes  ! 

Third  Fury.  The  hope  of  torturing  him  smells  like  a  heap 
Of  corpses  to  a  death-bird  after  battle.  [Hounds 

First  Fury.  Darest  thou  delay,  O  Herald  !   Take  cheer, 
Of  Hell :  what  if  the  Son  of  Maia  soon 
Should  make  us  food  and  sport — who  can  please  long 
The  Omnipotent  ? 

Mer.  Back  to  your  towers  of  iron, 

And  gnash  beside  the  streams  of  fire,  and  wail 
Your  foodless  teeth.     Geryon,  arise  !  and  Gorgon, 
Chimaera,  and  thou  Sphinx,  subtlest  of  fiends, 
Who  ministered  to  Thebes  Heaven's  poisoned  wine, 
Unnatural  love,  and  more  unnatural  hate  : 
These  shall  perform  your  task. 

First  Fury.  O  mercy !  mercy  '. 

We  die  with  our  desire :  drive  us  not  back ! 

Mer.  Crouch  then  in  silence. 

Awful  Sufferer  ; 
To  thee  unwilling,  most  unwillingly 
I  come,  by  the  Great  Father's  will  driven  down, 
To  execute  a  doom  of  new  revenge. 
Alas  !   I  pity  thee,  and  hate  myself 
That  I  can  do  no  more  :  aye  from  thy  sight 
Returning,  for  a  season,  heaven  seems  hell, 
So  thy  worn  form  pursues  me  night  and  day, 
Smiling  reproach.      Wise  art  thou,  firm  and  good, 
But  vainly  wouldst  stand  forth  alone  in  strife 
Against  the  Omnipotent ;  as  yon  clear  lamps 
That  measure  and  divide  the  weary  years 
From  which  there  is  no  refuge,  long  have  taught 
And  long  must  teach.     Even  now  thy  Torturer  arms 
With  the  strange  might  of  unimagined  pains 
The  powers  who  scheme  slow  agonies  in  Hell, 
And  my  commission  is  to  lead  them  here, 
Or  what  more  subtle,  foul,  or  savage  fiends 
People  the  abyss,  and  leave  them  to  their  task. 
Be  it  not  so  !  There  is  a  secret  known 
To  thee,  and  to  none  else  of  living  things, 
Which  may  transfer  the  sceptre  of  wide  Heaven, 
The  fear  of  which  perplexes  the  Supreme : 
Clothe  it  in  words,  and  bid  it  clasp  his  throne 
In  intercession  :  bend  thy  soul  in  prayer, 
And, like  a  suppliant  in  some  gorgeous  fane, 
Let  the  will  kneel  within  thy  haughty  heart: 
For  benefits  and  meek  submission  tame 
The  fiercest  and  the  mightiest. 

Pro.  Evil  minds 

Change  good  to  their  own  nature.     I  gave  all 


254  PROMETHEUS  UNBOUND. 

He  has ;  and  in  return  he  chains  me  here 

Years,  ages,  night,  and  day :  whether  the  Sun 

Split  my  parched  skin,  or  in  the  moony  night 

The  crystal-winged  snow  cling  round  my  hair: 

Whilst  my  beloved  race  is  trampled  down 

By  his  thought-executing  ministers. 

Such  is  the  tyrant's  recompense:  'tis  just: 

He  who  is  evil  can  receive  no  good  : 

And  for  a  world  bestowed,  or  a  friend  lost,     . 

He  can  feel  hate,  fear,  shame;  not  gratitude: 

He  but  requites  me  for  his  own  misdeed. 

Kindness  to  such  is  keen  reproach,  which  breaks 

With  bitter  stings  the  light  sleep  of  Revenge. 

Submission,  thou  dost  know  I  cannot  try : 

For  what  submission  but  that  fatal  word, 

The  death-seal  of  mankind's  captivity, 

Like  the  Sicilian's  hair-suspended  sword, 

Which  trembles  o'er  his  crown,  would  he  accept, 

Or  could  I  yield  ?  Which  yet  I  will  not  yield. 

Let  others  Hatter  Crime,  where  it  sits  throned 

In  brief  Omnipotence:  secure  are  they: 

For  Justice,  when  triumphant,  will  weep  down 

Pity,  not  punishment,  on  her  own  wrongs, 

Too  much  avenged  by  those  who  err.     I  wait, 

Enduring  thus,  the  retributive  hour, 

Which  since  we  spake  is  even  nearer  now, 

But  hark,  the  hell-hound  clamour.    Fear  delay! 

Behold!   Heaven  lowers  under  thy  Father's  frown. 

Mer.  Oh,  that  we  might  be  spared  :  I  to  inflict, 
And  thou  to  suffer!     Once  more  answer  me  : 
Thou  knowest  not  the  period  of  Jove's  power? 

Pro.  I  know  but  this,  that  it  must  come. 

Mer.  Alas! 

Thou  canst  not  count  thy  years  to  come  of  pain  ? 

Pro.  They  last  while  Jove  must  reign  ;  nor  more,  nor  less 
Do  I  desire  or  fear. 

Mer.  Yet  pause,  and  plunge 

Into  Eternity,  where  recorded  Jime, 
Even  all  that  we  imagine,  age  on  age, 
Seems  but  a  point,  and  the  reluctant  mind 
Flags,  wearily  in  its  unending  flight, 
Till  it  sink,  dizzy,  blind,  lost,  shelterless ; 
Perchance  it  lias  not  numbered  the  slow  years 
Which  thou  must  spend  in  lorture,  unreprieved. 

Pro.  Perchance  no  thought  can  count  them,  yet  they  pasi 

Mer.  If  thou  might'st  dwell  among  the  Gods  the  while 
Lapped  in  voluptuous  joy? 

Pro,  I  would  not  quit 

This  bleak  ravine,  these  unrepentant  pains. 


PROMETHEUS  UNBOUND.  255 

Mer.  Alas  !   I  wonder  at,  yet  pity  thee. 
Pro.  Pity  the  self-despising  slaves  of  Heaven, 
Not  me,  within  whose  mind  sits  peace  serene, 
As  light  in  the  sun,  throned :  how  vain  is  talk ! 
Call  up  the  fiends. 

lone.  O,  sister,  look  !  White  fire 

Has  cloven  to  the  roots  of  yon  huge  snow-loaded  cedar; 
How  fearfully  God's  thunder  howls  behind ! 

Mer.   I  must  obey  his  words  and  thine:  alas! 
Most  heavily  remorse  hangs  at  my  heart ! 

Pan.  See  where  the  child  of  Heaven,  with  winged  feet, 
Runs  down  the  slanted  sunlight  of  the  dawn. 

lone.  Dear  sister,  close  thy  plumes  over  thine  eyes 
Lest  thou  behold  and  die:  they  come:  they  come, 
Blackening  the  birth  of  day  with  countless  wings, 
And  hollow  underneath  like  death. 

First  Fury.  Prometheus! 

Second  Fury.   Immortal  Titan! 
Third  Fury.  Champion  of  Heaven's  slaves  ! 
Pro.  He  whom  some  dreadful  voice  invokes  is  here, 
Prometheus,  the  chained  Titan.     Horrible  forms, 
What  and  who  are  ye  ?  Never  yet  there  came 
Phantasms  so  foul  through  monster-teeming  Hell 
Prom  the  all-miscreative  brain  of  Jove  ; 
Whilst  I  behold  such  execrable  shapes, 
Methinks  I  grow  like  what  I  contemplate, 
And  laugh  and  stare.in  loathsome  sympathy. 

First  Fury.  We  are  the  ministers  of  pain,  and  fear, 
And  disappointment,  and  mistrust,  and  hate, 
And  clinging  crime;  and,  as  lean  dogs  pursue 
Through  wood  and  lake  some  struck  and  sobbing  fawn, 
We  track  all  things  that  weep,  and  bleed,  and  live, 
When  the  great  King  betrays  them  to  our  will. 
Pro.  Oh  !  many  fearful  natures  in  one  name, 
I  know  ye  ;  and  tliese  lakes  and  echoes  know 
The  darkness  and  the  clangour  of  your  wings. 
But  why  more  hideous  than  your  loathed  selves 
Gather  ye  up  in  legions  from  the  deep? 

Second  Fury.  We  knew  not  that:  Sisters,  rejoice,  rejoice. 
Pro.  Can  aught  exult  in  its  deformity? 
Second  Fury.  The  beauty  of  delight  makes  lovers  glad, 
Gazing  on  oiu  another:  so  are  we, 
As  from  the  rose  which  the  pale  priestess  kneels 
To  gather  for  her  festal  crown  of  flowers 
The  aerial  crimson  falls,  flushing  her  cheek, 
So  from  our  victim's  destined  agony 
The  shade,  which  is  our,  form,  invests  us  round, 
Else  we  are  shapeless  as  our  mother  Night. 

Pro.  1  laugh  your  power,  and  his  who  sent  you  here, 
To  lowest  scorn.     Pour  forth  the  cup  of  pain. 


256  PROMETHEUS  UNBOUND. 

First  Fury.  Thou  thinkestwe  will  rend  thee  bone  from  bone, 
And  nerve  from  nerve,  working  like  tire  within  1 

Pro.  Pain  is  my  element,  as  hate  is  thine 
Ye  rend  me  now :   I  care  not. 

Second  Fury.  Dost  imagine 

We  will  but  laugh  into  thy  lidless  eyes? 

Pro.  I  weigh  not  what  ye  do,  but  what  ye  suffer, 
Being  evil.     Cruel  was  the  power  which  called 
You,  or  aught  else  so  wretched,  into  light.  [one. 

Third  Fury.  Thou  think'st  we  will  live  through  thee,  one  by 
Like  animal  life,  and  though  we  can  obscure  not 
The  soul  which  burns  within,  that  we  will  dwell 
Beside  it,  like  a  vain  loud  multitude 
Vexing  the  self-content  of  wisest  men  : 
That  we  will  be  dread  thought  beneath  thy  brain, 
And  foul  desire  round  thine  astonished  heart, 
And  blood  within  thy  labyrinthine  veins 
Crawling  like  agony. 

Pro.  Why,  ye  are  thus  now  ; 

Yet  am  I  king  over  myself,  and  rule 
The  torturing  and  conflicting  throngs  within, 
As  Jove  rules  you  when  Hell  grows  mutinous. 

Chorus  of  Furies,  —  - 
From  the  ends  of  the~earTh7Troin  the  ends  of  the  ca-th, 
Where  the  night  has  its  grave  andthe  morning  its  birth, 

Come,  come,  come  !    ■ 
Oh,  ye  who  shake  hills  with  the  scream  of  your  mirth, 
When  cities  sink  howling  in  ruin;  and  ye 
Who  with  wingless  footsteps  trample  the  sea, 
And,  close  upon  Shipwreck  and  Famine's  track, 
Sit  chattering  with  joy  on  the  foodless  wreck  ; 
Come,  come,  come  ! 
Leave  the  bed,  low,  cold,  and  red, 
Strewed  beneath  a  nation  dead  ; 
Leave  the  hatred,  as  in  ashes 

Fire  is  left  for  future  burning: 
'Twill  burst  in  bloodier  flashes 

When  ye  stir  it,  soon  returning  : 
Leave  the  self-contempt  implanted 
In  young  spirits,  sense  enchanted, 

Misery's  yet  unkindled  fuel : 
Leave  Hell's  secrets  half  unchanted, 

To  the  maniac  dreamer:  cruel 
More  than  ye  can  be  with  hate 
Is  he  with  fear. 

Come,  come,  come! 
We  are  steaming  up  from  Hell's  wide  gate, 
And  we  burthen  the  blasts  of  the  atmosphere, 
But  vainly  we  toil  till  ye  come  here. 


PROMETHEUS  UNBOUND.  257 

lone.  Sister,  I  hear  the  thunder  of  new  wings. 
Pan.  These  solid  mountains  quiver  with  the  sound 
Even  as  the  tremulous  air :   their  shadows  make 
The  space  within, my  plumes  more  black  than  night. 
First  Fun/.  Your  call  was  as  a  winged  car 
Driven  on  whirlwinds  fast  and  far; 
It  rapt  us  from  red  gulphs  of  war. 
Second  Fury.   From  wide  cities,  famine-wasted; 
Third  Fury.  Groans  half  heard,  and  blood  untested; 
Fourth  Fury.   Kingly  conclaves,  stern  and  cold, 

Where  blood  with  gold  is  bought  and  sold  ; 
Fifth  Fury.   From  the  furnace,  white  and  hot, 

In  which — 
A  Fury.  Speak  not ;  whisper  not : 

I  know  all  that  ye  would  tell, 
But  to  speak  might  break  the  spell 
Which  must  bend  the  Invincible, 

The  stern  of  thought ; 
He  yet  defies  the  deepest  power  of  Hell. 
Fury.  Tear  the  veil ! 
Another  Fury.  It  is  torn. 

Chorus.  The  pale  stars  of  the  morn 

Shine  on  a  misery,  dire  to  be  borne. 
Dost  thou  faint,  mighty  Titan  ?  We  laugh  thee  to  scorn. 
Dost  thou  boast  the  clear  knowledge  thou  waken'dst  for  man  f 
Then  was  kindled  within  him  a  thirst  which  outran 
Those  perishing  waters  ;  a  thirst  of  fierce  fever, 
Hope,  love,  doubt,  desire,  which  consume  him  for  ever. 

One  came  forth  of  gentle  worth, 
Smiling  on  the  sanguine  earth : 
His  words  outlived  him,  like  swift  poison 

Withering  up  truth,  peace,  and  pity. 
Look  !  where  round  the  wide  horizon 

Many  a  million-peopled  city 
Vomits  smoke  in  the  bright  air. 
Mark  that  outcry  of  despair  ! 
'Tis  his  mild  and  gentle  ghost 

Wailing  for  the  faith  he  kindled : 
Look  again  !  the  flames  almost 

To  a  glow-worm's  lamp  have  dwindled: 
The  survivors  round  the  embers 

Gather  in  dread. 

Joy.  j°y.  j°y }-    • 

Past  ages  crowd  on  thee,  but  each  one  remembers ; 
And  the  future  is  dark,  and  the  present  is  spread 
Like  a  pillow  of  thorns  for  thy  slumberless  head. 
Semichorus  I.   Drops  of  bloody  agony  flow 

From  his  white  and  quivering  brow. 
Grant  a  little  respite  now: 


258  PROMETHEUS  UNBOUND. 

See  a  disenchanted  nation 

Springs  like  day  from  desolation  ; 

To  truth  its  state  is  dedicate, 

And  Freedom  leads  it  forth,  her  mate; 

A  legioned  band  of  linked  brothers, 

Whom  Love  calls  children — 

Semichorus  II.  'Tis  another's 

See  how  kindred  murder  kin  ! 
'Tis  the  vintage-time  for  death  and  sin. 
Blood,  like  new  wine,  bubbles  within: 
'Till  Despair  smothers 
The  struggling  world,  which  slaves  and  tyrants  win. 

\All  the  Furies  vanish,  except  one. 

lone.  Hark,  sister !  what  a  low  yet  dreadful  groan 
Quite  unsuppressed  is  tearing  up  the  heart 
Of  the  good  Titan,  as  storms  tear  the  deep, 
And  beasts  hear  the  sea  moan  in  inland  caves. 
Darest  thou  observe  how  the  fiends  torture  him? 

Pan.  Alas!    I  looked  forth  twice,  but  will  no  more. 

lone.  What  didst  thou  see  ? 

Pan.  A  woful  sight :  a  youth 

With  patient  looks  nailed  to  a  crucifix. 

lone.  What  next? 

Pan.  The  heaven  around,  the  earth  below 

Was  peopled  with  thick  shapes  of  human  death, 
All  horrible,  and  wrought  by  human  hands, 
And  some  appeared  the  work  of  human  hearts. 
For  men  were  slowly  killed  by  frowns  and  smiles : 
And  other  sights  too  foul  to  speak  and  live 
Were  wandering  by.     Let  us  not  tempt  worse  fear 
By  looking  forth  :  those  groans  are  grief  enough. 

Fury.  Behold  an  emblem  :  those  who  do  endure 
Deep  wrongs  for  man,  and  scorn,  and  chains,  but  heap 
Thousand-fold  torment  on  themselves  and  him. 

Pro.   Remit  the  anguish  of  that  lighted  stare  ; 
Close  those  wan  lips:  let  that  thorn-wounded  brow 
Stream  not  with  blood  ;  it  mingles  with  thy  tears! 
Fix,  fix  those  tortured  orbs  in  peace  and  death, 
So  thy  sick  throes  shake  not  that  crucifix, 
So  those  pale  fingers  play  not  with  thy  gore. 
O  horrible !  Thy  name  I  will  not  speak, 
It  hath  become  a  curse.     I  see,  I  see 
The  wise,  the  mild,  the  lofty,  and  the  just, 
Whom  thy  slaves  hate  for  being  like  to  thee, 
Some  hunted  by  foul  lies  from  their  heart's  home. 
An  early-chosen,  late-lamented  home; 
As  hooded  ounces  cling  to  the  driven  hind  ; 
Some  linked  to  corpses  in  unwholesome  cells  : 
gome — Hear  I  not  the  multitude  laugh  kud  ? — 


PROMETHEUS  UNBOUND.  259 

Impaled  in  lingering  fire:  and  mighty  realms 
Float  by  my  feet,  like  sea-uprooted  isles, 
Whose  sons  are  kneaded  down  in  common  blood 
By  the  red  light  of  their  own  burning  homes. 

Fury.  Blood  thou  canst  see,  and  fire ;  and  canst  hear  groans  : 
Worse  things,  unheard,  unseen,  remain  behind. 

Pro.     Worse  ? 

Fur y.       In  each  human  heart  terror  survives 
The  ravin  it  has  gorged:  the  loftiest  fear 
All  that  they  would  disdain  to  think  were  true: 
Hypocrisy  and  custom  make  their  minds 
The  fanes  of  many  a  worship,  now  outworn. 
They  dare  not  devise  good  for  man's  estate, 
And  yet  they  know  not  that  they  do  not  dare. 
The  good  want  power,  but  to  weep  barren  tears. 
The  powerful  goodness  want:  worse  need  for  them. 
The  wise  want  love  ;  and  those  who  love  want  wisdom  ; 
And  all  best  things  are  thus  confused  to  ill. 
Many  arc  strong  and  rich,  and  would  be  just, 
But  live  among  their  suffering  fellow-men 
As  if  none  felt :  they  know  not  what  they  do. 

Pro.  Thy  words  are  like  a  cloud  of  winged  snakes  ; 
And  yet  I  pity  those  they  torture  not. 

Fury.  Thou  pitiest  them  ?   I  speak  no  more  !  [Faniskes. 

Pro.  Ah  woe ! 

Ah  woe!  Alas!  pain,  pain  ever,  for  ever ! 
I  close  my  tearless  eyes,  but  see  more  clear 
Thy  works  within  my  woe-illumed  mind, 
Thou  subtle  tyrant !  Peace  is  in  the  grave. 
The  grave  hides  all  things  beautiful  and  good  :    . 
I  am  a  God,  and  cannot  find  it  there, 
Nor  would  I  seek  it:   for,  though  dread  revenge, 
This  is  defeat,  fierce  king!  not  victory. 
The  sights  with  which  thou  torturest  gird  my  soul 
With  new  endurance,  till  the  hour  arrives 
When  they  shall  be  no  types  of  things  which  are. 

Pan.  Alas  !   what  sawest  thou  ? 

Pro.  There  are  two  woes  ; 

To  speak,  and  to  behold ;  thou  spare  me  one. 
Names  are  there,  Nature's  sacred  watch-words,  they 
Were  born  aloft  in  bright  emblazonry; 
The  nations  thronged  around,  and  cried  aloud, 
As  with  one  voice,  Truth,  liberty,  and  lovei 
Suddenly  fierce  confusion  fell  from  heaven 
Among  them  :  there  was  strife,  deceit,  and  fear  : 
Tyrants  rushed  in,  and  did  divide  the  spoil. 
This  was  the  shadow  of  the  truth  I  saw. 

The  Fartk.  I  felt  thy  torture,  son,  with  such  mixed  joy 
As  pain  and  virtue  give.     To  cheer  thy  state 
I  bid  ascend  those  subtle  and  fair  spitits, 


260  PROMETHEUS  UNBOUND. 

Whose  homes  are  the  dim  caves  of  human  thought, 
And  who  inhabit,  as  birds  wing  the  wind, 
Its  world-surrounding  ether  :  they  behold 
Beyond  that  twilight  realm,  as  in  a  glass, 
The  future  :  may  they  speak  comfort  to  thee  ! 

Pan.  Look,  sister,  where  a  troop  of  spirits  gather, 
Like  flocks  of  clouds  in  spring's  delightful  weather, 
Thronging  in  the  blue  air  ! 

lone.  And  see!  more  come, 

Like  fountain-vapours  when  the  winds  are  dumb, 
That  climb  up  the  ravine  in  scattered  lines. 
And,  hark!  is  it  the  music  of  the  pines? 
Is  it  the  lake  ?   Is  it  the  waterfall  1 

Pan.  'Tis  something  sadder,  sweeter  far  than  all. 

Chorus  of  Spirits.  From  unremembered  ages  we 
Gentle  guides  and  guardians  be 
Of  heaven-oppressed  mortality ! 
And  we  breathe,  and  sicken  not, 
The  atmosphere  of  human  thought: 
Be  it  dim,  and  dank,  and  grey, 
Like  a  storm-extinguished  day, 
Travelled  o'er  by  dying  gleams: 

Be  it  bright  as  all  between 
Cloudless  skies  and  windless  streams, 

Silent,  liquid,  and  serene; 
As  the  birds  within  the  wind, 

As  the  fish  within  the  wave, 
As  the  thoughts  of  man's  own  mind 

Float  through  all  above  the  grave: 
We  make  there  our  liquid  lair, 
Voyaging  cloud-like  and  unpcnt 
Through  the  boundless  element: 
Thence  we  bear  the  prophecy 
Which  begins  and  ends  in  thee  ! 

lone.  More  yet  come,  one  by  one:  the  air  around  them 
Looks  radiant  as  the  air  around  a  star. 

First  Spirit.  On  a  battle-trumpet's  blast 
I  fled  hither,  fast,  fast,  fast, 
'Mid  the  darkness  upward  cast. 
From  the  dust  of  creeds  outworn, 
From  the  tyrants  banner  torn, 
Gathering  round  me,  onward  borne, 
There  was  mingled  many  a  cry — 
Freedom!   Hope!   Death!  Victory! 
Till  they  faded  through  the  sky ; 
And  one  sound,  above,  around, 
One  sound  beneath,  around,  above, 
Was  moving  ;  'twas  the  soul  of  love  ; 


PROMETHEUS  UNBOUND.  261 

'Twas  the  hope,  the  prophecy, 
Which  begins  and  ends  in  thee. 

Spirit.  A  rainbow's  arch  stood  on  the  sea, 
Which  rocked  beneath,  immovably  ; 
And  the  triumphant  storm  did  flee, 
Like  a  conqueror,  swift  and  proud, 
Between  with  many  a  captive  cloud 
A  shapeless,  dark  and  rapid  crowd, 
Each  by  lightning  riven  in  half: 
I  heard  the  thunder  hoarsely  laugh : 
Mighty  fleets  were  strewn  like  chaff 
And  spread  beneath  a  hell  of  death 
O'er  the  white  waters.     I  alit 
On  a  great  ship  lightning-split, 
And  speeded  hither  on  the  sigh 
Of  one  who  gave  an  enemy 
His  plank,  then  plunged  aside  to  die. 

Third  Spirit.  1  sate  beside  a  sage's  bed, 
And  the  lamp  was  burning  red 
Near  the  book  where  he  had  fed, 
When  a  Dream  with  plumes  of  flame 
To  his  pillow  hovering  came, 
And  I  knew  it  was  the  same 
Which  had  kindled  long  ago 
Pity,  eloquence,  and  woe; 
And  the  world  awhile  below 
Wore  the  shade  its  lustre  made. 
It  has  borne  me  here  as  fleet 
As  Desire's  lightning  feet : 
I  must  ride  it.  back  ere  morrow 
Or  the  sage  will  wake  in  sorrow. 

Fourth  Spirit.  On  a  poet's  lips  I  slept 
Dreaming  like  a  love-adept 
In  the  sound  his  breathing  kept: 
Nor  seeks  nor  finds  he  mortal  blisses, 
But  feeds  on  the  aerial  kisses 
Of  shapes  that  haunt  thought's  wildernesses. 
He  will  watch  from  dawn  to  gloom 
The  lake-reflected  sun  illume 
The  yellow  bees  in  the  ivy-bloom, 
Nor  heed  nor  see,  what  things  they  be  ; 
But  from  these  create  he  can 
Forms  more  real  than  living  man, 
Nurslings  of  immortality ! 
One  of  these  awakened  me, 
And  I  sped  to  succour  thee. 
lone.  Behold'st  thou  not  two  shapes  from  the  east  and  west 
Come,  as  two  doves  to  one  beloved  nest, 


262  PROMETHEUS  UNBOUND. 

Twin  nurslings  of  the  all-sustaining  air 
On  swift  still  wings  glide  down  the  atmosphere? 
And,  hark!  their  sweet  sad  voices!   'tis  despair 
Mingled  with  love,  and  then  dissolved  in  sound. 

Pan.  Canst  thou  speak,  sister?  all  my  words  are  drowned. 

lone.  Their  beauty  gives  me  voice.     See  how  they  float 
On  their  sustaining  wings  of  skiey  grain, 
Orange  and  azure  deepening  into  gold: 
Their  soft  smiles  light  the  air  like  a  star's  fire. 

Ckirus  of  Spirits.  Hast  thou  beheld  the  form  of  Love? 

Fifth  Spirit.  As  over  wide  dominions  [nesses, 

I  sped,  like  some  swift  cloud  that  wings  the  wide  air's  wilder- 
That   planet-crested    shape    swept   by  on   lightning-braided 

pinions, 
Scattering  the  liquid  joy  of  life  from  his  ambrosial  tresses  : 
His  footsteps  paved  the  world  with  light;    but  as    I  pass'd 

'twras  fading, 
And  hollow  Ruin  yawned  behind :  great  sages  bound  in  madness, 
And  headless  patriots,  and  pale  youths  who  perished,  umip- 

braiding,  [sadness, 

Gleamed  in  the  night.     I  wandered  o'er,  till  thou,  O  King  of 
Turned  by  thy  smile  the  worst  1  saw  to  recollected  gladness. 

Sixth  Spirit.  Ah,  sister!   Desolation  is  a  delicate  thing: 
It  walks  not  on  the  earth,  it  floats  not  on  the  air, 
But  treads  with  silent  footstep,  and  fans  with  silent  wing 
The  tender  hopes  which  in  their  hearts  the  best  and  gentlest 

bear; 
Who,  soothed  to  false  repose  by  the  fanning  plumes  above 
And  the  music-stirring  motion  of  its  soft  and  busy  feet, 
Dream  visions  of  aerial  joy,  and  call  the  monster,  Love, 
And  wake,  and  find  the  shadow  Pain,  as  he  whom  now  we  greet. 

Chorus.  Though  Ruin  now  Love's  shadow  be, 
Following  him,  destroyingly, 

On  Death's  white  and  winged  steed, 
Which  the  fleetest  cannot  flee, 

Trampling  down  both  flower  and  weed, 
Man  and  beast,  and  foul  and  fair, 
Like  a  tempest  through  the  air; 
Thou  shalt  quell  this  horseman  grim, 
Woundless  though  in  heart  or  limb. 

Pro.  Spirits !  how  know  ye  this  shall  be  ? 

Chorus.  In  the  atmosphere  we  breathe, 

As  buds  grow  red  when  the  snow-storms  flee, 

From  spring  gathering  up  beneath, 
Whose  mild  winds  shake  the  elder  brake, 
And  the  wandering  herdsmen  know: 
That  the  white-thorn  soon  will  blow : 


PROMETHELS  UNBOUND.  263 

Wisdom,  Justice,  Love,  and  Peace, 

When  they  struggle  to  increase, 

Are  to  us  as  soft  winds  be 

To  shepherd  boys,  the  prophecy. 

Which  begins  and  ends  in  thee. 
lone.  Where  are  the  Spirits  fled  ? 
Panthea.  Only  a  sense 

Remains  of  them,  like  the  omnipotence 
Of  music,  when  the  inspired  voice  and  lute 
Languish,  ere  yet  the  responses  are  mute, 
Which  through  the  deep  and  labyrinthine  soul 
Like  echoes  thro'  long  caverns,  wind  and  roll. 

Pro.  How  fair  these  air -born  shapes !  and  yet  I  feel 
Most  vain  all  hope  but  love  j  and  thou  art  far, 
Asia  !  who,  when  my  being  overflowed, 
Wert  like  a  golden  chalice  to  bright  wine 
Which  else  had  sunk  into  the  thirsty  dust. 
All  things  are  still :  alas  !  how  heavily 
This  quiet  morning  weighs  upon  my  heart; 
Though  I  should  dream  I  could  even  sleep  with  grief, 
If  slumber  were  denied  not.     I  would  fain 
Be  what  it  is  my  destiny  to  be, 
The  saviour  and  the  strength  of  suffering  man, 
Or  sink  into  the  original  gulph  of  things : 
There  is  no  agony,  and  no  solace  left ; 
Earth  can  console,  Heaven  can  torment  no  more. 
Pan.  Hast  thou  forgotten  one  who  watches  thee 
The  cold  dark  night,  and  never  sleeps  but  when 
The  shadow  of  thy  spirit  falls  on  her? 

Pro.  I  said  all  hope  was  vain  but  love  :  thou  lovest. 
Pan.  Deeply  in  truth ;  but  the  eastern  star  looks  white, 
And  Asia  waits  in  that  far  Indian  vale 
The  scene  of  her  sad  exile:  rugged  once 
And  desolate  and  frozen,  like  this  ravine; 
But  now  invested  with  fair  flowers  and  herbs, 
And  haunted  by  sweet  airs  and  sounds,  which  flow 
Among  the  woods  and  waters,  from  the  ether 
Of  her  transforming  presence,  which  would  fade 
If  it  were  mingled  not  with  thine.     Farewell ! 

ACT  II. 

SCENE    I. 

Morning.     A  lonely  Vale  in  the  Indian  Caucasus.  Asia  alone. 

Asia.  From  all  the  blasts  of  heaven  thou  hast  descended: 
Yes,  like  a  spirit,  like  a  thought,  which  makes 
Unwonted  tears  throng  to  the  horny  eyes, 
And  beatings  haunt  the  desolated  heart, 
Which  should  have  learnt  repose  :  thou  hast  descended 
Cradled  in  tempests ;  thou  dost  wake,  O  Spring ! 


264  PROMETHEUS  UNBOUND. 

O  child  of  many  winds  !   As  suddenly 
Thou  comest  as  the  memory  of  a  dream, 
Which  now  is  sad,  because  it  hath  been  sweet; 
.  Like  genius,  or  like  joy  which  riseth  up 
As  from  the  earth,  clothing  with  golden  clouds 
The  desert  of  our  life. 

This  is  the  season,  this  the  day,  the  hour  ; 
At  sunrise  thou  shouldst  come,  sweet  sister  mine, 
Too  long  desired,  too  long  delaying,  come! 
How  like  death-worms  the  wingless  moments  crawl  I 
The  point  of  one  white  star  is  quivering  still 
Deep  in  the  orange  light  of  widening  morn 
Beyond  the  purple  mountains:  through  a  chasm 
Of  wind-divided  mist  the  darker  lake 
Reflects  it :  now  it  wanes  :  it  gleams  again 
As  the  waves  fade,  and  as  the  burning  threads 
Of  woven  cloud  unravel  in  pale  air : 
'Tis  lost !  and  through  yon  peaks  of  cloudlike  snow 
The  roseate  sun-light  quivers:  hear  I  not 
The  .-Eolian  music  of  her  sea-green  plumes 
Winnowing  the  crimson  dawn  ? 

Panthea  enters. 

I  feel,  I  see, 
Those  eyes  which  burn  through  smiles  that  fade  in  tears, 
Like  stars  half-quenched  in  mists  of  silver  dew. 
Beloved  and  most  beautiful,  who  wearest 
The  shadow  of  that  soul  by  which  I  live, 
How  late  thou  art !  the  sphered  sun  had  climbed 
The  sea  ;  my  heart  was  sick  with  hope,  before 
The  printless  air  felt  thy  belated  plumes. 

Pan.  Pardon,  great  Sister  !  but  my  wings  were  faint 
With  the  delight  of  a  remembered  dream, 
As  are  the  noon-tide  plumes  of  summer  winds 
Satiate  with  sweet  flowers.     I  was  wont  to  sleep 
Peacefully,  and  awake  refreshed  and  calm 
Before  the  sacred  Titan's  fall,  and  thy 
Unhappy  love,  had  made,  through  use  and  pity, 
Both  love  and  woe  familiar  to  my  heart 
As  they  had  grown  to  thine  :  erewhile  I  slept 
Under  the  glaucous  caverns  of  old  Ocean, 
Within  dim  bowers  of  green  and  purple  moss, 
Our  young  Ione's  soft  and  milky  arms 
Locked  then,  as  now,  behind  my  dark  moist  hair, 
While  my  shut  eyes  and  cheek  were  pressed  within 
The  folded  depth  of  her  life-breathing  bosom  : 
But  not  as  now,  since  I  am  made  the  wind 
Which  falls  beneath  the  music  that  I  bear 
Of  thy  most  wordless  converse  ;  since  dissolved 
Into  the  sense  with  which  love  talks,  my  rest 


PROMETHEUS  UNBOUND. 

Was  troubled  and  yet  sweet ;  my  waking  hours 
Too  full  of  care  and  pain. 

Asia.  Lift  up  thine  eyes, 

And  let  me  read  thy  dream. 

Pan.  As  I  have  said 

With  our  sea-sister  at  his  feet  I  slept. 
The  mountain  mists,  condensing  at  our  voice 
Under  the  moon,  had  spread  their  snowy  flakes, 
From  the  keen  ice  shielding  our  linked  sleep. 
Then  two  dreams  came.     One,  I  remember  not. 
But  in  the  other  his  pale  wound-worn  limbs 
Fell  from  Prometheus,  and  the  azure  night 
Grew  radiant  with  the  glory  of  that  form 
Which  lives  unchanged  within,  and  his  voice  fell 
Like  music  which  makes  ffiddy  the  dim  brain, 
Faint  with  intoxication  of  keen  joy: 
"  Sister  of  her  whose  footsteps  pave  the  world 
Whose  loveliness — more  fair  than  aught  but  her 
With  shadow  thou  art — lift  thine  eyes  on  me." 
I  lifted  them  :  the  overpowering  light 
Of  that  immortal  shape  was  shadowed  o'er 
By  love  ;  which,  from  his  soft  and  flowing  limbs, 
And  passion-parted  lips,  and  keen  faint  eyes, 
Steamed  forth  like  vaporous  fire  ;  an  atmosphere 
Which  wrapt  me  in  its  all-dissolving  power, 
As  the  warm  ether  of  the  morning  sun 
Wraps  ere  it  drinks  some  cloud  of  wandering  dew. 
I  saw  not,  heard  not,  moved  not,  only  felt 
His  presence  flow  and  mingle  through  my  blood 
Till  it  became  his  life,  and  his  grew  mine, 
And  I  was  thus  absorb'd,  until  it  past, 
And  like  the  vapours  when  the  sun  sinks  down, 
Gathering  again  in  drops  upon  the  pines, 
And  tremulous  as  they,  in  the  deep  night 
My  being  was  condensed  ;  and  as  the  rays 
Of  thought  were  slowly  gathered,  I  could  hear 
His  voice,  whose  accents  lingered  ere  they  died 
Like  footsteps  of  weak  melody  :  thy  name 
Among  the  many  sounds  alone  I  heard 
Of  what  might  be  articulate  ;  though  still 
I  listened  through  the  night  when  sound  was  nona 
lone  wakened  then,  and  said  to  me  : 
"Canst  thou  divine  what  troubles  me  to-night? 
I  always  knew  what  I  desired  before, 
Nor  ever  found  delight  to  wish  in  vain. 
But  now  I  cannot  tell  thee  what  I  seek  ; 
I  know  not ;  something  sweet,  since  it  is  sweet 
Even  to  desire  ;  it  is  thy  sport,  false  sister; 
Thou  hast  discovered  some  enchantment  old, 
Whose  spells  have  stolen  my  spirit  as  I  slept 


266  PROMETHEUS  UNBOUND. 

And  mingled  it  with  thine:  for  when  just  now 

We  ki;sed,  I  felt  within  thy  parted  lips 

The  sweet  air  that  sustained  me,  and  the  warmth 

Of  the  life-blood,  for  loss  of  which  I  faint, 

Quiveied  between  our  intertwining  arms." 

I  answered  not,  for  the  eastern  star  grew  pale, 

But  fled  to  thee. 

Asia.  Thou  speakest,  but  thy  words 

Are  as  the  air :    1  feel  them  not.     Oh,  lift 
Thine  eyes,  that  I  may  read  his  written  soul ! 

Pan.  I  lift  them,  though  they  droop  beneath  the  load 
Of  that  they  would  express  :  what  canst  thou  see 
But  thine  own  fairest  shadow  imaged  there  ? 

Asia.  Thine  eyes  are  like  the  deep,  blue,  boundless  heaven, 
Contracted  to  two  circles  underneath 
Their  long  fine  lashes  ;  dark,  far,  measureless, 
Orb  within  orb,  and  line  through  line  inwoven. 

Pan.  Why  lookest  thou  as  if  a  spirit  past  ? 

Asia.  There  is  a  change  :  beyond  their  inmost  depth 
I  see  a  shade,  a  shape  :  'tis  He,  arrayed 
In  the  soft  light  of  his  own  smiles,  which  spread 
Like  radiance  from  the  cloud-surrounded  morn. 
Prometheus,  it  is  thine!  depart  not  yet! 
Say  not  those  smiles  that  we  shall  meet  again 
Within  that  bright  pavilion  which  their  beams 
Shall  build  on  the  waste  world?  The  dream  is  told. 
What  shape  is  that  between  us  ?  Its  rude  hair 
Roughens  the  wind  that  lifts  it,  its  regard 
Is  wild  and  quick,  yet  'tis  a  thing  of  air, 
For  through  its  grey  robe  gleams  the  golden  dew 
Whose  stars  the  noon  has  quench 'd  not. 

Dream.  Follow!   Follow! 

Pan.   It  is  mine  other  dream. 

Asia.  It  disappears. 

Pan.   It  passes  now  into  my  mind.     Methought 
As  we  sate  here,  the  flower-infolding  buds 
Burst  on  yon  lightning-blasted  almond -tree, 
When  swift  from  the  white  Scythian  wilderness 
A  wind  swept  forth  wrinkling  the  Earth  with  frost ; 
I  looked,  and  all  the  blossoms  were  blown  down ; 
But  on  each  leaf  was  stamped,  as  the  blue  bells 
Of  Hyacinth  tell  Apollo's  written  grief. 
On,  follow,  follow  ! 

Asia.  As  you  speak,  your  words 

Fill,  pause  by  pause,  my  own  forgotten  sleep 
With  shapes.     Methought  among  the  lawns  together 
We  wandered,  underneath  the  young  grey  dawn> 
And  multitudes  of  dense  white  fleecy  clouds 
Were  wandering  in  thick  flocks  along  the  mountains 


PROMETHEUS  UNBOUND.  267 

Shepherded  by  the  slow,  unwilling  wind  ; 

And  the  white  dew  on  the  new-bladed  grass, 

Just  piercing  the  dark  earth,  hung  silently  ; 

And  there  was  more  which  I  remember  not; 

But  on  the  shadows  of  the  morning  clouds, 

Athwart  the  purple  mountain  slope,  was  written 

Follow,  Oh,  follow  !   As  they  vanished  by, 

,And  on  each  herb,  from  which  Heaven's  dew  had  fallen, 

The  like  was  stamped,  as  with  a  withering  fire 

A  wind  arose  among  the  pines ;  it  shook 

The  clinging  music  from  their  boughs,  and  then 

Low,  sweet,  faint  sounds,  like  the  farewell  of  ghosts, 

Were  heard  :  Oh,  follow,  follow,  follow  me  ! 

And  then  I  said  :  "  Panthea,  look  on  me." 

But  in  the  depth  of  those  beloved  eyes 

Still  2  saw  follow,  follow  ! 

Echo.  Follow,  follow 

Pan.  The  crags,  this  clear  spring  morning,  mock  our  voices 
As  they  were  spirit  tongued. 

Asia.  It  is  some  being 

Around  the  crags.     What  fine  clear  sounds  !     O,  list ! 
Echoes,  unseen.     Echoes  we:  listen! 
We  cannot  stay  : 
As  dew-stars  glisten 
Then  fade  away — 
Child  of  Ocean  ! 

Asia.  Hark !  Spirits,  speak.     The  liquid  responses 
Of  their  aerial  tongues  yet  sound. 

Pan.  I  hear. 

E  h  es.  Oh,  follow,  follow, 

As  our  voice  recedeth 
Through  the  caverns  hollow ! 
Where  the  forest  spreadeth 
(More  distant)     Oh  follow,  follow, 

Through  the  caverns  hollow. 
As  the  song  floats  thou  pursue, 
Where  the  wild  bee  never  flew, 
Through  the  noon-tide  darkness  deep, 
By  the  odour-breathing  sleep 
Of  faint  night  flowers,  and  the  waves 
At  the  fountain-lighted  caves, 
While  our  music,  wild  and  sweet, 
Mocks  thy  gently  falling  feet, 
Child  of  Ocean  ! 

Asia.  Shall  we  pursue  the  sound  ?  It  grows  more  faint 
And  distant. 
Pan.  List!  the  strain  floats  nearer  now. 


7? 

268  PROMETHEUS  UNBOUND. 

£tb*Ci.  In  the  world  unknown 

Sleeps  a  wice  unspoken ; 
By  that  step  alone 
Can  its  rest  be  broken  ; 
Child  of  Ocean ! 

Asia.  How  the  notes  sink  upon  the  ebbing  wind  ! 

Echoes.  Oh,  follow,  follow  ! 

Through  the  caverns  hollow, 
As  the  song  floats  thou  pursue, 
By  the  woodland  noon-tide  dew ; 
By  the  forests,  lakes,  and  fountains, 
Through  the  many-folded  mountains  ; 
To  the  rents,  and  gulphs,  and  chasms, 
Where  the  Earth  reposed  from  spasms, 
On  the  day  when  He  and  thou 
Parted,  to  commingle  now; 
Child  of  Ocean ! 

Asia.  Come  sweet  Panthea,  link  thy  hand  in  mine, 
And  follow,  ere  the  voices  fade  away. 


SCENE  II. 

A  forest,  intermingled  with  Rocks  and  Caverns.  Asia  and  Pan- 
thea pass  into  it.  Two  young  Fauns  are  sitting  on  a  rock, 
listening. 

Semichorus  I.  of  Spirits. 

The  path  through  which  that  lovely  twain 

Have  past,  by  cedar,  pine,  and  yew, 

And  each  dark  tree  that  ever  grew, 

Is  curtained  out  from  Heaven's  wide  blue ; 
Nor  sun,  nor  moon,  nor  wind,  nor  rain, 
Can  pierce  its  interwoven  bowers, 

Nor  ought,  save  where  some  cloud  of  dew, 
Drifted  along  the  earth-creeping  breeze, 
Between  the  trunks  of  the  hoar  trees, 

Hangs  each  a  pearl  in  the  pale  flowers 

Of  the  green  laurel,  blown  anew; 
And  bends,  and  then  fades  silently, 
One  frail  and  fair  anemone : 
Or  when  some  star,  of  many  a  one 
Thai  clhnbr.  and  wanders  through  steep  night, 
Has  found  the  cleft  through  which  alone 
Beams  fall  from  high  those  depths  upon 
Ere  it  is  borne  away,  away, 
By  the  swift  Heavens  that  cannot  stay, 
It  scatters  diops  of  golden  light, 
Like  lines  of  rain  that  ne'er  unite  : 


PROMETHEUS  UNBOUND.  269 

And  the  gloom  divine  is  all  around, 

And  underneath  is  the  mossy  ground.  "  I 

Semichorits  IT.  There  the  voluptuous  nightingales 

Are  awake  through  all  the  broad  noon-day, 
When  one  with  bliss  or  sadness  tails, 

And  through  the  windless  ivy-boughs, 
Sick  with  sweet  love,  droops  dying  away 
On  its  mate's  music-panting  bosom  j 

Another  from  the  swinging  blossom 
Watching  to  catch  the  languid  close 
Of  the  last  strain,  then  lifts  on  high 
The  wings  of  the  weak  melody, 

Till  some  new  strain  of  feeling  bear 

The  song,  and  all  the  woods  are  mute; 
When  there  is  heard  through  the  dim  air 
The  rush  of  wings,  and  rising  there 

Like  many  a  lake-surrounded  flute, 
Sounds  overflow  the  listener's  brain 
So  sweet,  that  joy  is  almost  pain. 

Semichorus  I.  There  those  enchanted  eddies  play 
Of  echoes,  music-tongued,  which  draw, 
By  Demcgorgon's  mighty  law, 
With  melting  rapture,  or  sweet  awe, 
All  spirits  on  that  secret  way ; 

As  inland  boats  are  driven  to  Ocean 
Down  streams  made  strong  with  mountain-thaw ; 
And  first  there  comes  a  gentle  sound 
To  those  in  talk  or  slumber  bound, 
And  wakes  the  destined,  soft  emotion. 
Attracts,  impels  them  ;  those  who  saw 
Say  from  the  breathing  earth  behind 
There  streams  a  plume-uplifting  wind 
Which  drives  them  on  their  path,  while  they 

Believe  their  own  swift  wings  and  feet 
The  sweet  desires  within  obey: 
And  so  they  float  upon  their  way, 
Until,  still  sweet,  but  loud  and  strong, 
The  storm  of  sound  is  driven  along, 

Sucked  up  and  hurrying :  as  they  fleet 
Behind,  its  gathering  billows  meet, 
And  to  the  fatal  mountain  bear 
Like  clouds  amid  the  yielding  air. 

First  Faun.  Canst  thou  imagine  where  those  spirit  live 
WThich  make  such  delicate  music  in  the  woods? 
We  haunt  within  the  least  frequented  caves 
And  closest  coverts,  and  we  know  these  wilds, 
Yet  never  meet  them,  though  we  hear  them  oft: 
Where  may  they  hide  themselves  1 

Second  Faun.  'Tis  hard  to  tell : 


270  PROMETHEUS  UNBOUND. 

I  have  heard  those  more  skilled  in  spirits  say, 
The  bubtles,  which  the  enchantment  of  the  sun 
Sucks  .jm  the  pale  faint  water-flowers  that  pave 
The  oozy  bottom  of  clear  lakes  and  pools, 
Are  the  pavillions  where  such  dwell  and  float 
Under  the  green  and  golden  atmosphere 
Which  noon-tide  kindles  through  the  woven  leaves  ; 
And,  when  these  burst,  and  the  thin  fiery  air, 
The  which  they  breathed  within  those  lucent  domes, 
Ascends  to  flow  like  meteors  through  the  night, 
They  ride  on  them,  and  rein  the  headlong  speed, 
And  bow  their  burning  crests,  and  glide  in  fire 
Under  the  waters  of  the  earth  again. 

Frst  Faun  If  such  live  thus,  have  others  other  lives, 
Under  pink  blossoms  or  within  the  bells 
Of  meadow  flowers,  or  folded  violets  deep, 
Or  on  their  dying  odours,  when  they  die? 
Or  on  the  sunlight  of  the  sphered  dew  ? 

Second  Faun.    Aye,  many  more  which  we  may  well 

divine 
But,  should  we  stay  to  speak,  noontide  would  come, 
And  thwart  Silenus  find  his  goats  undrawn, 
And  grudge  to  sing  those  wise  and  lovely  songs 
Of  fate,  and  chance,  and  God,  and  Chaos  old, 
And  Love,  and  the  chained  Titan's  woful  doom. 
And  how  he  shall  be  loosed,  and  make  the  earth 
One  brotherhood  :  delightful  strains  which  cheer 
Our  solitary  twilights,  and  which  charm 
To  silence  the  unenvying  nightingales. 


SCENE  III. 
A  Pinnacle  of  Rocks  among  Mountains.     Asia  and  Panthea 

Pan.  Hither  the  sound  has  borne  us — to  the  realm 
Of  Demogorgon,  and  the  mighty  portal, 
Like  a  volcano's  meteor-breathing  chasm, 
Whence  the  oracular  vapour  is  hurled  up 
Which  lonely  men  drink  wandering  in  their  youth, 
And  call  truth,  virtue,  love,  genius,  or  joy, 
That  maddening  wine  of  life,  whose  dregs  they  drain 
To  deep  intoxication  ;  and  uplift, 
Like  Maenads  who  cry  loud,  Evoe  !  Evoe  ! 
The  voice  which  is  contagion  to  the  world. 

Asia.  Fit  throne  for  such  a  Power !     Magnificent 
How  glorious  art  thou,  Earth  !     And  if  thou  be 
The  shadow  of  some  spirit  lovelier  still, 
Though  evil  stain  its  work,  and  it  should  be 
Like  its  creation,  weak,  yet  beautiful, 
I  could  fall  down  and  worship  that  and  thee. 


PROMETHEUS  UNBOUND.  271 

Even  now  my  heart  adoreth  :  Wonderful ! 

Look,  sister,  ere  the  vapour  dim  thy  brain  : 

Beneath  is  a  wide  plain  of  billowy  mist, 

As  a  lake,  paving  in  the  morning  sky, 

With  azure  waves  which  burst  in  silver  light, 

Some  Indian  vale.     Behold  it,  rolling  on 

Under  the  curdling  winds,  and  islanding 

The  peak  whereon  we  stand,  midway,  around, 

Encinctured  by  the  dark  and  blooming  forests, 

Dim  twilight-lawns,  and  stream-illumined  caves, 

And  wind-enchanted  shapes  of  wandering  mist; 

And  far  on  high  the  keen  sky-cleaving  mountains 

From  icy  spires  of  sun-like  radiance  fling 

The  dawn,  as  lifted  Ocean's  dazzling  spray, 

From  some  Atlantic  islet  scattered  up, 

Spangles  the  wind  with  lamp-like  water-drops. 

The  vale  is  girdled  with  their  walls,  a  howl 

Of  Cataracts  from  their  thaw-cloven  ravines 

Satiates  the  listening  wind,  continuous,  vast, 

Awful  as  silence.     Hark  !  the  rushing  snow  ! 

The  sun  awakened  avalanche  !  whose  mass, 

Thrice  sifted  by  the  storm,  had  gathered  there 

Flake  after  flake,  in  heaven-defying  minds 

As  thought  by  thought  is  piled,  till  some  great  truth 

Is  loosened,  and  the  nations  echo  round, 

Shaken  to  their  roots,  as  do  the  mountains  now. 

Pan.  Look  how  the  gusty  sea  of  mist  is  breaking 
In  crimson  foam,  even  at  our  feet !     It  rises 
As  Ocean  at  the  enchantment  of  the  moon 
Round  foodless  men  wrecked  on  some  oozy  isle. 

Asia.  The  fragments  of  the  cloud  are  scattered  up  ; 
The  wind  that  lifts  them  disentwines  my  hair  ; 
Its  billows  now  sweep  o'er  mine  eyes  ;    my  brain 
Grows  dizzy  ;   I  see  thin  shapes  within  the  mist. 

Pan   A  countenance  with  beckoning  smiles :  there  burns 
An  azure  fire  within  its  golden  locks ! 
Another  and  another :  hark  !  they  speak ! 

Song  of  Spirits.  To  the  deep,  to  the  deep, 
Down,  down ! 
Through  the  shade  of  sleep, 
Through  the  cloudy  strife 
Of  Death  and  of  Life  ; 
Through  the  veil  and  the  bar 
Of  things  which  seem  and  are, 
Even  to  the  steps  of  the  remotest  throne, 
Down,  down  ! 

While  the  sound  whirls  around, 
Down,  down ! 
24 


272  PROMETHEUS  UNBOUND 

As  the  fawn  draws  the  hound, 
As  the  lightning  the  vapour, 
As  a  weak  moth  the  taper  ; 
Death,  despair ;  loVe,  sorrow ; 
Time  both;  to-day,  to-morrow; 
As  steel  obeys  the  spirit  of  the  stone, 
Down,  down. 

Through  the  grey  void  abysm, 

Down,  down ! 
Where  the  air  is  no  prism, 
And  the  moon  and  stars  are  not, 
And  the  cavern-crags  wear  not 
The  radiance  of  Heaven, 
Nor  the  gloom  to  Earth  given, 
Where  there  is  one  pervading,  one  alone, 

Down,  down  ! 

In  the  depth  of  the  deep 
Down,  down, 
'  Like  veiled  lightning  asleep, 
Like  the  spark  nursed  in  embers, 
The  last  look  Love  remembers, 
Like  a  diamond,  which  shines 
On  the  dark  wealth  of  mines. 
A  spell  is  treasur'd  but  for  thee  alone. 
Down,  down! 

We  have  bound  thee,  we  guide  thee ; 

Down,  down ! 
With  the  bright  form  beside  thee  ; 
Resist  not  the  weakness, 
Such  strength  is  in  meekness 
That  the  Eternal,  the  Immortal, 
Must  unloose  through  life's  portal         [throne 
The  snake-like  Doom  coiled  underneath  his 

By  that  alone. 


SCENE  IV.  • 

The  Cave  o/Demogorgon.     Asia  and  Panthea. 

Pan.  What  veiled  form  sits  on  that  ebon  throne, 

Asia.  The  veil  has  fallen. 

Pan.  I  see  a  mighty  darkness 

Filling  the  seat  of  power,  and  rays  of  gloom 
Dart  round,  as  light  from  the  meridan  sun, 
Ungazed  upon  and  shapeless;  neither  limb, 
Nor  form,  nor  outline  ;  yot  we  feel  it  is 


PROMETHEUS  UNBOUND.  273 

A  living  Spirit. 

Dem.  Ask  what  thou  wouidst  know. 

Asia.  What  canst  thou  tell  ? 

Devi.  All  things  thou  dar'st  demand. 

Asia.  Who  made  the  living  world  ? 

Dem.  God. 

Asia.  Who  made  all 

That  it  contains  ?  thought,  passion,  reason,  will, 
Imagination  ? 

Dem.  God:  Almighty  God.  [spring 

Asia.  Who  made  that  sense  which,  when  the  winds  on 
In  rarest  visitation,  or  the  voice 
Of  one  beloved  heard  in  youth  alone, 
Tills  the  faint  eyes  with  falling  tears  which  dim 
The  radiant  looks  of  unbewailing  flowers, 
And  leaves  this  peopled  earth  a  solitude 
When  it  returns  no  more  ? 

Dem.  Merciful  God. 

Asia.  And  who  made  terror,  madness,  crime,  remorse? 
Which,  from  the  links  of  the  great  chain  of  things, 
To  every  thought  within  the  mind  of  man, 
Sway  and  drag  heavily,  and  each  one  reels 
Under  the  load  towards  the  pit  of  death  ; 
Abandoned  hope,  and  love  that  turns  to  hate  ; 
And  self-contempt,  bitterer  to  drink  than  blood; 
Pain,  whose  unheeded  and  familiar  speech 
Is  howling,  and  keen  shrieks,  day  after  day; 
And  Hell,  or  the  sharp  fear  of  Hell  ? 

Dem.  He  reigns. 

Asia.  Utter  his  name:  a  world  pining  in  pain 
Asks  but  his  name :  curses  shall  drag  him  down. 

Dem.  He  reigns. 

Asia.  I  feel,  I  know  it:  who? 

Dem.  He  reigns.  [at  first, 

Asia.  Who  reigns  ?     There  was  the  Heaven  and  Earth 
And  Light  and  Love ;  then  Saturn,  from  whose  throne 
Time  fell,  an  envious  shadow;  such  the  state 
Of  the  earth's  primal  spirits  beneath  his  sway, 
As  the  calm  joy  of  flowers  and  living  leaves 
Before  the  wind  or  sun  has  withered  them 
And  Semi-vital  worms  ;  but  he  refused 
The  birthright  of  their  being,  knowledge,  power, 
The  skill  which  wields  the  elements,  the  thought 
Which  pierces  this  dim  universe ;  like  light, 
Self-empire,  and  the  majesty  otlove; 
For  thirst  of  which  they  fainted.     Then  Prometheus 
Gave  wisdom,  which  is  strength,  to  Jupiter, 
And  with  this  law  alone,  "Let  man  be  free," 
Clothed  him  with  the  dominion  of  wido  Heaven. 
To  know  nor  faith,  nor  love,  nor  law ;  to  be 


274  PROMETHEUS  UNBOUND. 

Omnipotent  but  friendless,  is  to  reign; 

And  Jove  now  reigned  ;    for  on  the  race  of  man 

First  famine,  and  then  toil,  and  then  disease, 

Strife,  wounds,  and  ghastly  death  unseen  before, 

Fell ;  and  the  unseasonable  seasons  drove, 

With  alternating  shafts  of  frost  and  fire, 

Their  shelterless  pale  tribes  to  mountain  caves: 

And  in  their  desert  hearts  fierce  wants  he  sent, 

And  mad  disquietudes,  and  shadows  idle 

Of  unreal  good,  which  levied  mutual  war, 

So  ruining  the  lair  wherein  they  raged. 

Prometheus  saw,  and  waked  the  legioned  hopes 

Which  sleep  within  folded  Elysian  flowers, 

Nepenthe,  Moly,  Amaranth,  fadeless  blooms, 

That  they  might  hide  with  thin  and  rainbow  winers 

The  shape  of  Death  ;   and  Love  he  sent  to  bind 

The  disunited  tendrils  of  that  vine 

Which  bears  the  wine  of  life,  the  human  heart ; 

And  he  tamed  fire,  which,  like  some  beast  of  prey, 

Most  terrible,  but  lovely,  played  beneath 

The  frown  of  man  ;  and  tortured  to  his  will 

Iron  and  gold,  the  slaves  and  signs  of  power, 

And  gems  and  poisons,  and  all  subtlest  forms 

Hidden  beneath  the  mountains  and  the  waves. 

He  gave  man  speech,  and  speech  created  thought, 

Which  is  the  measure  of  the  universe  ; 

And  Science  struck  the  thrones  of  earth  and  heaven, 

Which  shook,  but  fell  not:  and  the  harmonious  mine 

Poured  itself  forth  in  all-prophetic  song  ; 

And  music  lifted  up  the  listening  spirit 

Until  it  walked,  exempt  from  mortal  care, 

Godlike,  o'er  the  clear  billows  of  sweet  sound; 

And  human  hands  first  mimicked  and  then  mocked, 

With  moulded  limbs  more  lovely  than  its  own, 

The  human  form,  till  marble  grew  divine  ; 

And  mothers,  gazing,  drank  the  love  men  see 

Reflected  in  their  race,  behold,  and  perish. 

He  told  the  hidden  power  of  herbs  and  springs, 

And  Disease  drank  and  slept.     Death  grew  like  sleep. 

He  taught  the  implicated  orbits  woven 

Of  the  wide-wandering  stars:  and  how  the  sun 

Changes  his  lair,  and  by  what  secret  spell 

The  pale  moon  is  transformed,  when  her  broad  eye 

Gazes  not  on  the  interlunar  sea: 

He  taught  to  rule,  as  life  directs  the  limbs, 

The  tempest-winged  chariots  of  the  Ocean, 

And  the  Celt  knew  the  Indian.    Cities  then 

Were  built  and  through  their  snow-like  columns  flowed 

The  warm  winds,  and  the  azure  aether  shone, 

And  the  blue  sea  and  shadowy  hills  were  seen. 


PROMETHEUS  UNBOUND.  275 

Such  the  alleviations  of  his  state, 

Prometheus  gave  to  man,  for  which  he  hangs 

Withering  in  destined  pain;  but  who  reigns  down 

Evil,  the  immedicable  plague,  which,  while 

Man  looks  on  his  creation  like  a  God 

And  sees  that  it  is  glorious,  drives  him  on 

The  wreck  of  his  own  will,  the  scorn  of  earth, 

The  outcast,  the  abandoned,  the  alone  1 

Not  Jove:  while  yet  his  frown  shook  heaven,  aye,  when 

His  adversary  from  adamantine  chains    . 

Cursed  him,  he  trembled  like  a  slave.    Declare 

Who  is  his  master  ?    Is  he  too  a  slave  ? 

Dem.  All  spirits  are  enslaved  which  serve  things  evil : 
rhou  knowest  if  Jupiter  be  such  or  no. 

Asia.  Whom  call'dst  thou  God  1 

Dem.  I  spoke  but  as  ye  speak, 

For  Jove  is  the  supreme  of  living  things. 

Asia.  Who  is  the  master  of  the  slave  ? 

Dem.  If  the  abysm 

Could  vomit  forth  its  secrets.     But  a  voice 
Is  wanting,  the  deep  truth  is  imageless ; 
For  what  would  it  avail  to  bid  thee  gaze 
On  the  revolving  world  ?  What  to  bid  speak 
Fate,  Time,  Occasion,  Chance  and  Change  ?   To  these 
All  things  are  subject  but  eternal  Love. 

Asia.  So  much  I  asked  before,  and  my  heart  gave 
The  response  thou  hast  given  ;  and  of  such  truths 
Each  to  itself  must  be  the  oracle. 
One  more  demand ;  and  do  thou  answer  me 
As  my  own  soul  would  answer,  did  it  know 
That  which  I  ask.    Prometheus  shall  arise 
Henceforth  the  sun  of  this  rejoicing  world  : 
When  shall  the  destined  hour  arrive  ? 

Dem.  Behold !         [night 

Asia.  The  rocks  are  cloven,  and  through  the  purple 
I  see  cars  drawn  by  rainbow-winged  steeds 
Which  trample  the  dim  winds :  in  each  there  stands 
A  wild-eyed  charioteer  urging  their  flight 
Some  look  behind,  as  fiends  pursued  them,  there, 
And  yet  I  see  no  shapes  but  the  keen  stars  ; 
Others,  with  burning  eyes,  lean  forth,  and  drink 
With  eager  lips  the  wind  of  their  own  speed, 
As  if  the  thing  they  loved  fled  on  before, 
And  now,  even  now,  they  clasped  it.     Their  bright  locks 
Stream  like  a  comet's  flashing  hair;  they  all 
Sweep  onward. 

Dem.  These  are  the  immortal  Hours, 

Of  whom  thou  didst  demand.     One  waits  for  thee. 

Asia.  A  spirit  with  a  dreadful  countenance 
Checks  its  dark  chariot  by  the  craggy  gulph. 


27(5  PROMETHEUS  UNBOUND. 

Unlike  thy  brethren,  ghastly  charioteer, 

Who  art  thou  1  Whither  wouldst  thou  bear  me  ?  Speak  I 

Spirit.   I  am  the  shadow  of  a  destiny 
More  dread  than  is  my  aspect ;  ere  yon  planet 
Has  set,  the  darkness  which  ascends  with  me 
Shall  wrap  in  lasting  night  heaven's  kingless  throne. 

Asia.         What  meanest  thou  ? 

Pan.  That  terrible  shadow  floats 

Up  from  its  throne,  as  may  the  lurid  smoke 
Of  earthquake-ruined  cities  o'er  the  sea. 
Lo  !  it  ascends  the  car  ;  the  coursers  fly 
Terrified  :   watch  its  path  among  the  stars, 
Blackening  the  night ! 

Asia.  Thus  I  am  answered  :   strange ! 

Pan.   See,  near  the  verge,  another  chariot  stays  ; 
An  ivory  shell  jnlaid  with  crimson  fire, 
Which  comes  and  goes  within  its  sculptured  rim 
Of  delicate  strange  tracery ;   the  young  spirit 
That  gaides  it  has  the  dove-like  eyes  of  hope  ; 
How  its  soft  smiles  attract  the  soul"  as  light 
Lures  winged  insects  through  the  lampless  air, 

Spirit.   My  coursers  are  fed  with  the  lightning, 
They  drink  of  the  whirlwind's  stream. 

And  when  the  red  morning  is  brightning 
They  bathe  in  the  fresh  sunbeam  ; 
They  have  strength  for  their  swiftness  I  deem 

They  ascend  with  me,  daughter  of  Ocean. 

I  desire  ;   and  their  speed  makes  night  kindle  ; 
I  fear :   they  outstrip  the  Typhoon  ; 

Ere  the  cloud  piled  on  Atlas  can  dwindle 
We  encircle  the  earth  and  the  moon: 
We  shall  rest  from  long  labours  at  noon : 

Then  ascend  with  me,  daughter  of  Ocean. 

SCENE   V. 

The  Car  pauses  within  a  cloud  on  the  top  of  a  snoivy  mounldiiu 
Asia,  Pantiiea,  and  the  Spirit  of  the  Hour. 
Spirit.  On  the  brink  of  the  night  and  the  morning 
My  coursers  are  won  to  respire; 
But  the  earth  has  just  whispered  a  warning 
That  their  flight  must  be  swifter  than  fire : 
They  shall  drink  the  hot  speed  of  desire ! 
Asia.  Thou  breathest  on  their  nostrils,  but  my  breath 
Would  give  them  swifter  speed. 

Spirit.  Alas  !  it  could  not. 

Pan.  O  Spirit!  pause,  and  tell  whence  is  the  light 
Which  fills  the  cloud  !  The  sun  is  yet  unrisen. 
Spirit    The  sun  will  rise  not  until  noon.     Apollo 


PROMETHEUS  UNBOUND.  277 

Is  held  in  heaven  by  wonder ;  and  the  light 
Which  fills  this  vapour,  as  the  aerial  hue 
Of  fountain-gazing  roses  fills  the    water, 
Flows  from  thy  mighty  sister. 

Pan.  Yes,  I  feel— 

As-ia.  What  is  it  with  thee,  sister?  Thou  art  pale. 

Pan.  How  thou  art  changed  !   I  dare  not  look  on  thee; 
I  feel  but  see  thee  not.     I  scarce  endure 
The  radiance  of  thy  beauty.     Some  good  change 
Is  working  in  the  elements,  which  suffer 
Thy  presence  thus  unveiled.     The  Nereids  tell 
That  on  the  day  when  the  clear  hyaline 
Was  cloven  at  thy  uprise,  and  thou  didst  stand 
Within  a  veined  shell,  which  floated  on 
Over  the  calm  floor  of  the  crystal  sea, 
Among  the  Egean  isles,  and  by  the  shores 
Which  bear  thy  name  ;  Love,  like  the  atmosphere 
Of  the  sun's  fire  filling  the  living  world, 
Burst  from  thee,  and  illumined  earth  and  heaven, 
And  the  deep  ocean,  and  the  sunless  caves, 
And  all  that  dwells  within  them ;  till  grief  cast 
Eclipse  upon  the  soul  from  which  it  came  : 
Such  art  thou  now ;  nor  is  it  I  alone, 
Thy  sister,  thy  companion,  thine  own  chosen  one, 
But  the  whole  world  which  seeks  thy  sympathy. 
Hearest  thou  not  sounds  i'the  air  which  speaks  the  love 
Of  all  articulate  beings  ?     Feelest  thou  not 
The  inanimate  winds  enamoured  of  thee  ?   List !  [Afuucj 

Asia.  Thy  words  are  sweeter  than  aught  else  but  his 
Whose  echoes  they  are  :  yet  all  love  is  sweet, 
Given  or  returned.     Common  as  light  is  love, 
And  its  familiar  voice  wearies  not  ever. 
Like  the  wide  heaven,  the  all-sustaining  air, 
It  makes  the  reptile  equal  to  the  God: 
They  who  inspire  it  most  are  fortunate, 
As  I  am  now  ;  but  those  who  feel  it  most 
A.re  happier  still,  after  long  sufferings, 
\s  I  shall  soon  become. 

Pan.  List!     Spirits,  speak. 

Voice  in  the  air,  singing. 
Life  of  Life !  thy  lips  enkindle 

With  their  love  the  breath  between  them; 
And  thy  smiles  before  they  dwindle 

Make  cold  air  fire  then  screen  them 
In  those  looks,  where  whoso  gazes 
Faints,  entangled  in  their  mazes. 

Child  of  light !  thy  limbs  are  burning 

Through  the  vest  which  seems  to  hide  them ; 


278  PROMETHEUS  UNBOUND. 

As  the  radiant  lines  of  morning 

Through  the  clouds,  ere  they  divide  them; 
And  this  atmosphere  divinest 
Shrouds  thee  wheresoe'er  thou  shinest. 

Fair  are  others  ;  none  beholds  thee, 
But  thy  voice  sounds  low  and  tender 

Like  the  fairest,  for  it  folds  thee 

From  the  sight,  that  liquid  splendour, 

And  all  feel  yet  see  thee  never, 

As  I  feel  now,  lost  for  ever ! 

Lamp  of  Earth  !  where'er  thou  movest, 
Its  dim  shapes  are  clad  with  brightness, 

And  the  souls  of  whom  thou  lovest 
Walk  upon  the  winds  with  lightness 

Till  they  fail,  as  I  am  failing, 

Dizzy,  lost,  yet  unbewailiaig ! 

Asia.  My  soul  is  an  enchanted  boat, 

Which,  like  a  sleeping  swan.doth  float 
Upon  the  silver  waves  of  thy  sweet  singing ; 
And  thine  doth  like  an  angel  sit 
Beside  the  helm  conducting  it, 
Whilst  all  the  winds  with  melody  are  ringing. 
It  seems  to  float  ever,  for  ever, 
Upon  that  many-winding  river 
Between  mountains,  woods,  abysses, 
A  paradise  of  wildernesses! 
Till,  like  one  in  slumber  bound, 
Borne  to  the  ocean,  I  float  down,  around, 
Into  a  sea  profound  of  ever  spreading  sound. 

Meanwhile  thy  spirit  lifts  its  pinions 
In  music's  most  serene  dominions, 
Catching  the  winds  that  fan  that  happy  heaven. 
And  we  sail  on,  away,  afar, 
Without  a  course,  without  a  star, 
But,  by  the  instinct  of  sweet  music  driven, 
Till  through  Elysian  garden  islets 
By  thee,  most  beautiful  of  pilots, 
Where  never  mortal  pinnace  glided, 
The  boat  of  my  desire  is  guided : 
Realms  where  the  air  we  breathe  is  love, 
Which  in  the  winds  on  the  waves  doth  move, 
Harmonizing  this  earth  with  what  we  feel  above. 

We  have  pass'd  Age's  icy  caves, 
And  Manhood's  dark  and  tossing  waves, 
And  Youth's  smooth  ocean,  smiling  to  betray  : 
Boy  jiid  the  glassy  gulphs  we  flee 
Of  shadow-peopled  Infancy, 


PROMETHEUS  UNBOUND.  279 

Through  Death  and  Birth,  to  a  diviner  day  ; 

A  paradise  of  vaulted  bowers, 

Lit  by  downward-gazing  flowers, 

And  watery  paths  that  wind  between 

Wildernesses  calm  and  green, 
Peopled  by  shapes  too  bright  to  see, 
And  rest,  having  beheld  ;  somewhat  like  thee  ; 
Which  walk  upon  the  sea,  and  chant  melodiously  I 


ACT   III. 

Scene  i. 
Heaven.     Jupiter  on  his  Throve  ;  Thetis  and  the  other  Deities 
assembled. 
Jup.  Ye  congregated  powers  of  heaven,  who  share 
The  glory  and  the  strength  of  him  ye  serve, 
Rejoice!  henceforth  I  am  omnipotent. 
All  else  had  been  subdued  to  me  :  alone 
The  soul  of  man,  like  unextinguished  fire, 
Yet  burns  towards  heaven  with  fierce  reproach,  and  doubt, 
And  lamentation,  and  reluctant  prayer, 
Hurling  up  insurrection,  which  might  make 
Our  antique  empire  insecure,  though  built 
On  eldest  faith,  and  hell's  coeval,  fear; 
And,  though  my  curses  through  the  pendulous  air, 
Like  snow  on  herbless  peaks,  fall  flake  by  flake, 
And  cling  to  it;  though  under  my  wrath's  might 
It  climb  the  crags  of  life,  step  after  step, 
Which  wound  it,  as  ice  wounds  unsandled  feet 
It  yet  remains  supreme  o'er  misery, 
Aspiring,  unredressed,  yet  soon  to  fall: 
Even  now  have  I  begotten  a  strange  wonder, 
That  fatal  child,  the  terror  of  the  earth, 
Who  waits  but  till  the  destined  hour  arrive, 
Bearing  from  Demogorgon's  vacant  throne 
The  dreadful  might  of  ever-living  limbs 
Which  clothed  that  awful  spirit  unbeheld, 
To  redesccnd,  and  trample  out  the  spark. 

Pour  forth  heaven's  wine,  Idaean  Ganymede, 

And  let  it  fill  the  Daedal  cups  like  fire, 

And  from  the  flower-inwoven  soil  divine, 

Ye  all-triumphant  harmonies  arise, 

As  dew  from  earth  under  the  twilight  stars  : 

Drink !  be  the  nectar  circling  through  your  veins 

The  soul  of  joy,  ye  ever-living  Gods, 

Till  exultation  burst  in  one  wide  voice 

Like  music  from  Elysian  winds. 

And  thou 
Ascend  beside  me,  veiled  in  the  light 


280  PROMETHEUS  UNBOUND. 

Of  the  desire  which  makes  thee  one  with  me, 
Thetis,  bright  image  of  eternity  ! 
When  thou  didst  cry,  "  Insufferable  might! 
God  !  spare  me  !  I  sustain  not  the  quick  flames, 
The  penetrating  presence  ;  all  my  being, 
Like  him  whom  the  Numidian  steeps  did  thaw 
Into  a  dew  with  poison,  is  dissolved, 
Sinking  through  its  foundations:  "  even  then 
Two  mighty  spirits,  mingling,  made  a  third 
Mightier  than  either,  which,  unbodied  now, 
Between  us  floats,  felt,  although  unbeheld, 
Waiting  the  incarnation,  which  ascends, 
(Hear  ye  the  thunder  of  the  fiery  wheels 
Grinding  the  winds?)  from  Demogorgon's  throne. 
Victory!  Victory!  Feel'st  thou  not,  O  world ! 
The  earthquake  of  his  chariot  thundering  up 
Olympus  ? 

[The   Car  of  the  Hour  arrives.     Demogorgon  descends,  and 

moves  towards  the  Throne  of  Jupiter. 
Awful  shape,  what  art  thou  ?  Speak! 

Dem.  Eternity.     Demand  no  direr  name. 
Descend,  and  follow  me  down  the  abyss. 
I  am  thy  child  as  thou  wert  Saturn's  child ; 
Mightier  than  thee  :  and  we  must  dwell  together 
Henceforth  in  darkness.     Lift  thy  lightnings  not. 
The  tyranny  of  heaven  none  may  retain, 
Or  reassume,  or  hold,  succeeding  thee : 
Yet  if  thou  wilt,  as  'tis  the  destiny 
Of  trodden  worms  to  writhe  till  they  are  dead, 
Put  forth  thy  might. 

Jup.  Detested  prodigy ! 

Even  thus  beneath  the  deep  Titanian  prisons 
I  trample  thee  !     Thou  lingerest  ? 

Mercy!  mercy! 
No  pity,  no  release,  no  respite  !     Oh, 
That  thou  wouldst  make  mine  enemy  my  judge, 
Even  where  he  hangs,  seared  by  my  long  revenge, 
On  Caucasus  !     He  would  not  doom  me  thus. 
Gentle,  and  just,  and  dreadless,  is  he  not 
The  monarch  of  the  world  ?     What  then  art  thou  ? 
No  refuge  !  no  appeal  ! 

Sink  with  me  then. 
We  two  will  sink  on  the  wide  waves  of  ruin, 
Even  as  a  vulture  and  a  snake  outspent 
Drop,  twisted  in  inextricable  fight, 
Into  a  shoreless  sea.     Let  hell  unlock 
Its  mounded  oceans  of  tempestuous  fire, 
And  vvbelm  on  them  into  the  bottomless  void 
This  desolated  world,  and  thee,  and  me, 


PROMETHEUS  UNBOUND. 

The  conqueror  and  the  conquered,  and  the  wreck 
Of  that  for  which  they  combated. 

Ai!  A 
The  elements  obey  me  not.     I  sink 
Dizzily  down,  ever,  for  ever,  down  ! 
And,  like  a  cloud,  mine  enemy  above 
Darkens  my  fall  with  victory  !     Ai !   Ai  ! 


SCENE  II. 

The  Mouth  of  a  great  River  in  the  Island  Atlantis.    Ocean  is  dis- 
covered reclining  near  the  Shore  ;   Apollo  stands  beside  him. 

Ocean.  He  fell,  thou  sayest,  beneath  his  conqueror's  frown? 

Apollo.  Aye,  when  the  strife  was  ended  which  made  dim 
The  orb  I  rule,  and  shook  the  solid  stars, 
The  terrors  of  his  eye  illumined  heaven 
With  sanguine  light,  through  the   thick  rugged  skirts 
Of  the  victorious  darkness,  as  he  fell : 
Like  the  last  glare  of  day's  red  agony, 
Which,  from  a  rent  among  the  fiery  clouds, 
Burns  far  along  the  tempest-wrinkled  deep. 

Ocean.   He  sunk  to  the  abyss?  to  the  dark  void? 

Apollo.  An  eagle  so  caught  in  some  bursting  cloud 
On  Caucasus,  his  thunder-baffled  wings 
Entangled  in  the  whirlwind,  and  his  eyes 
Which  gazed  on  the  undazzling  sun,  now  blinded 
By  the  white  lightning,  while  the  ponderous  hail 
Beats  on  his  struggling  form,  which  sinks  at  length 
Prone,  and  the  aerial  ice  clings  over  it. 

Ocean.  Henceforth  the  fields  of  Heaven-reflecting  sea, 
Which  are  my  realm,  will,  heave  unstained  with  blood, 
Beneath  the  uplifting  winds,  like  plains  of  corn 
Swayed  by  the  summer  air;  my  streams  will  flow 
Round  many-peopled  continents,  and  round 
Fortunate  isles ;  and  from  their  glassy  thrones 
Blue  Proteus  and  his  humid  nymphs  shall  mark 
The  shadow  of  fair  ships,  as  mortals  see 
The  floating  bark  of  the  light  laden  moon 
With  that  white  star,  its  sightless  pilot's  crest, 
Borne  down  the  rapid  sunset's  ebbing  sea; 
Tracking  their  path  no  more  by  blood,  and  groans, 
And  desolation,  and  the  mingled  voice 
Of  slavery  and  command ;  but  by  the  light 
Of  wave-reflected  flowers,  and  floating  odours, 
And  music  soft,  and  mild,  free,  gentle  voices, 
That  sweetest  music,  such  as  spirits  love. 

Apollo.  And  I  shall  gaze  not  on  the  deeds  which  make 
My  mind  obscure  with  sorrow,  as  eclipse 
Darkens  the  sphere  I  guide.     But  list,  1  hear 
The  small,  clear,  silver  lute  of  the  young  Spirit 


282  PROMETHEUS  UNBOUND 

That  sits  i'  the  morning  star. 

Ocean.  Thou  must  away  ! 

Thy  steeds  will  pause  at  even,  till  when  farewell : 
The  loud  deep  calls  me  home  even  now  to  feed  it 
With  azure  calm  out  of  the  emerald  urns 
Which  stand  for  ever  full  beside  my  throne. 
Behold  the  Nereids  under  the  green  sea, 
Their  wavering  limbs  born  on  the  wind-like  stream, 
Their  white  arms  lifted  o'er  their  streaming  hair 
With  garlands  pied  and  starry  sea-flower  crowns, 
Hastening  to  grace  their  mighty  sister's  joy. 

(A  sound  of  waves  is  heard.) 
It  is  the  unpastured  sea  hungering  for  calm. 
Peace,  monster !  I  come  now.     Farewell. 

Apollo.  Farewell. 


SCENE  III. 

Caucasus.  Prometheus,  Hercules,  Ione,  the  Ea-rth 
Spirits,  Asia,  and  Pantiiea,  borne  in  the  car  with  the 
Spirit  of  the  Hour. 

Hercules  unbinds  Prometheus,  who  descends. 

Hercules.  Most  glorious  among  spirits!  thus  doth  strength 
To  wisdom,  courage,  and  long-suffering  love, 
And  thee,  who  art  the  form  they  animate, 
Minister  like  a  slave. 

Pro.  Thy  gentle  words 

Are  sweeter  even  than  freedom  long  desired 
And  long  delayed. 

Asia,  thou  light  of  life, 
Shadow  of  beauty,  unbeheld  ;  and  ye, 
Fair  sister  nymphs,  who  made  long  years  of  pain 
Sweet  to  remember,  through  your  love  and  care ; 
Henceforth  we  will  not  part.     There  is  a  cave, 
All  cergrown  with  trailing  odorous  plants, 
Which  curtain  out  the  day  with  leaves  and  flowers, 
And  paved  with  veined  emerald,  and  a  fountain, 
Leaps  in  the  midst  with  an  awakening  sound. 
From  its  curved  roof  the  mountain's  frozen  tears, 
Like  snow,  or  silver,  or  long  diamond  spires, 
Hang  downward,  raining  forth  a  doubtful  light: 
And  there  is  heard  the  ever-moving  air, 
Whispering  without  from  tree  to  tree,  and  birds, 
And  bees  ;  and  all  around  are  mossy  seats, 
And  the  rough  walls  are  clothed  with  long  soft  grass;— 
A  simple  dwelling,  which  shall  be  our  own; 
Where  we  will  sit  and  talk  of  time  and  change, 
As  the  world  ebbs  and  flows,  ourselves   unchanged. 
What  can  hide  man  from  mutability? 


PROMETHEUS  UNBOUND.  283 

And  if  ye  sigh,  then  I  will  smile;  and  thou, 

lone,  shall  chaunt  fragments  of  sea-music, 

Until  I  weep,  when  ye  shall  smile  away 

The  tears  she  brought,  which  yet  were  sweet  to  shed. 

We  will  entangle  buds  and  flowers  and  beams 

Which  twinkle  on  the  fountain's  brim,  and  make 

Strange  combinations  ottt  of  common  things, 

Like  human  babes  in  their  brief  innocence ; 

And  we  will  search,  with  looks  and  words  of  love, 

For  hidden  thoughts,  each  lovelier  than  the  last, 

Our  unexhausted  spirits  ;  and,  like  lutes 

Touched  by  the  skill  of  the  enamoured  wind, 

Weave  harmonies  divine,  yet  ever  new, 

From  difference  sweet  where  discord  cannot  be ; 

And  hither  come,  sped  on  the  charmed  winds, 

Which  meet  from  all  the  points  of  heaven,  as  bees 

From  every  flower  aerial  Enna  feeds, 

At  their  known  island-homes  in  Himera, 

The  echoes  of  the  human  world,  which  tell 

Of  the  low  voice  of  love,  almost  unheard, 

And  dove-eyed  pity's  murmured  pain,  and  music, 

Itself  the  echo  of  the  heart,  and  all 

That  tempers  or  improves  man's  life,  now  free; 

And  lovely  apparitions,  dim  at  first, 

Then  radiant,  as  the  mind,  arising  bright 

From  the  embrace  of  beauty,  whence  the  forms 

Of  which  these  are  the  phantoms,  casts  on  them 

The  gathered  rays,  which  are  reality, 

Shall  visit  us,  the  progeny  immortal 

Of  Fainting,  Sculpture,  and  wrapt  Poesy,   • 

And  Arts,  though  unimagined,  yet  to  be. 

The  wandering  voices  and  the  shadows  these 

Of  all  that  man  becomes,  the  mediators 

Of  that  best  worship,  love,  by  him  and  us 

Given  and  returned  ;  swift  shapes  and  sounds  which  grow 

More  fair  and  soft  as  man  grows  wise  and  kind, 

And  veil  by  veil,  evil  and  error  fall : 

Such  virtue  as  the  cave  and  place  around. 

(Turning  to  the  Spirit  of  the  Hour.) 
For  thee,  fair  Spirit,  one  toil  remains.     lone, 
Give  her  that  curved  shell,  which  Proteus  old, 
Made  Asia's  nuptial  boon,  breathing  within  it 
A  voice  to  be  accomplished,  and  which  thou 
Didst  hide  in  grass  under  the  hollow  rock. 

lone.  Thou  most  desired  Hour,  more  loved  and  lovely 
Than  all  thy  sisters,  this  the  mystic  shell. 
See  the  pale  azure  fading  into  silver 
Lining  it  with  a  soft  yet  glowing  light: 
Looks  it  not  like  lulled  music  sleeping  there  ? 

Spirit.  It  seems  in  truth  the  fairest  shell  of  Ocean : 


2S4  PROMETHEUS  UNBOUND. 

Its  sound  must  be  at  once  both  sweet  and  strange. 

Pro.  Go,  borne  over  the  cities  of  mankind 
On  whirlwind-footed  coursers  :  once  again 
Uutspeed  the  sun  around  the  orbed  world, 
And,  as  thy  chariot  cleaves  the  kindling  air, 
Thou  breathe  into  the  many-folded  shell, 
Loosening  its  mighty  music  ;  it  shall  be 
As  thunder  mingled  with  clear  echoes:  then 
Return,  and  thou  shalt  dwell  beside  our  cave— 
And  thou,  O  Mother  Earth  ! — 

The  Earth.  I  hear,  I  feel ; 

Thy  lips  are  on  me,  and  thy  touch  runs  down 
Even  to  the  adamantine  central  gloom 
Along,  these  marble  nerves;  'tis  life,  'tis  joy, 
And,  through  my  withered,  old,  and  icy  frame, 
The  warmth  of  an  immortal  youth  shoots  down 
Circling.     Henceforth,  the  many  children  fair 
Folded  in  my  sustaining  arms :  all  plants, 
And  creeping  forms,  and  insects  rainbow-winged, 
And  birds,  and  beasts,  and  fish,  and  human  shapes, 
Which  drew  disease  and  pain  from  my  wan  bosom, 
Draining  the  poison  of  despair,  shall  take 
And  interchange  sweet  nutriment ;  to  me 
Shall  they  become  like  sister-antelopes 
By  one  fair  dam,  snow-white  and  swift  as  wind 
Nursed  among  lilies  near  a  brimming  stream. 
The  dew-mists  of  my  sunless  sleep  shall  float 
Under  the  stars  like  balm  :  night-folded  flowers 
Shall  suck  unwithering  hues  in  their  repose: 
And  men  and  beasts  in  happy  dreams  shall  gather 
Strength  for  the  coming  day,  and  all  its  joy: 
And  death  shall  be  the  last  embrace  of  her 
Who  takes  the  life  she  gave,  even  as  a  mother, 
Folding  her  child,  says,  "Leave  me  not  again." 

Asm-  Oh,  mother!  wherefore  speak  the  name  of  death? 
Cease  they  to  love,  and  move,  and  breathe,  and  speak, 
Who  die  ? 

The  Earth.   It  would  avail  not  to  reply  : 
Thou  art  immortal,  and  this  tongue  is  known 
But  to  the  uncommunicating  dead. 
Death  is  the  veil  which  those  who  live  call  life: 
They  sleep,  and  it  is  lifted:  and  meanwhile 
In  mild  variety  the  seasons  mild, 
With  rainbow-skirted  showers,  and  odorous  winds, 
And  long  blue  meteors  cleansing  the  dull  night, 
And  the  life-kindling  shafts  of  the  keen  sun's 
All-piercing  bow,  and  the  dew-mingled  rain 
Of  the  calm  moonbeams,  a  soft  influence  mild, 
Shall  clothe  the  forests  and  the  fields,  aye,  even 
The  crag-built  deserts  of  the  barren  4eeP» 


PROMETHEUS  UNBOUND.  285 

With  ever-living  leaves,  and  fruits,  and  flowers. — 

And  thou  !   There  is  a  cavern  where  my  spirit 

Was  panted  forth  in  anguish  whilst  thy  pain 

Made  my  heart  mad,  and  those  that  did  inhale  it 

Became  mad  too,  and  built  a  temple  there, 

Ami  spoke,  and  were  oracular,  and  lured 

The  erring  nations  round  to  mutual  war, 

And  faithless  faith,  such  as  Jove  kept  with  thee  ; 

Which  breath  now  rises,  as  amongst  tall  weeds 

A  violet's  exhalation,  and  it  fills 

With  a  sererier  light  and  crimson  air 

Intense,  yet  soft,  the  rocks  and  woods  around  ; 

It  feeds  the  quick  growth  of  the  serpent  vine, 

And  the  dark-linked  ivy  tangling  wild, 

And  budding,  blown,  or  odour-faded  blooms 

Which  star  the  winds  with  points  of  coloured  light, 

As  they  rain  through  them,  and  bright  golden  globes 

Of  fruit,  suspended  in  their  own  green  heaven, 

And  through  their  veined  leaves  and  amber  stems 
The  flowers  whose  purple  and  translucid  bowls 

Stand  ever  mantling  with  aerial  dew, 
The  drink  of  spirits:  and  it  circles  round, 
Like  the  soft  waving  wings  of  noonday  dreams, 

Inspiring  calm  and  happy  thoughts,  like  mine, 

Now  thou  art  thus  restored.     This  cave  is  thine. 
Arise  !  Appear ! 

\_A  Spirit  rises  in  the  likeness  of  a  winged  child. 
This  is  my  torch-bearer; 
Who  let  his  lamp  out  in  old  time  with  gazing 
On  eyes  fiom  which  he  kindled  it  anew 
With  love,  which  is  as  fire,  sweet  daughter  mine, 
For  such  is  that  within  thine  own.     Run,  wayward, 
And  guide  this  company  beyond  the  peak 
Of  Bacchic  Nysa,  Maenad-haunted  mountain, 
And  beyond  Indus  and  its  tribute  rivers, 
Trampling  the  torrent  streams  and  glassy  lakes 
With  feet  unwet,  unwearied,  undelaying, 
And  up  the  green  ravine,  across  the  vale 
Beside  the  windless  and  crystalline  pool, 
Where  ever  lies,  on  unerasing  waves, 
The  image  of  a  temple,  built  above, 
Distinct  with  column,  arch,  and  architrave, 
And  palm-like  capital,  and  over-wrought, 
And  populous  most  with  living  imagery, 
Prnxitelean  shapes,  whose  marble  smiles 
Fill  the  hushed  air  with  everlasting  love. 
It  is  deserted  now,  but  once  it  bore 
Thy  name,  Prometheus.     There  the  emulous  youth3 
Bore  to  thy  honour  through  the  divine  gloom 
The  lamp  which  was  thine  emblem  :  even  as  those 


286  PROMETHEUS  UNBOUND. 

Who  bear  the  untransmitted  torch  of  hope 
Into  the  grave,  across  the  night  of  life, 
As  thou  hast  borne  it  most  triumphantly 
To  this  far  goal  of  Time.     Depart,  farewell. 
Beside  that  temple  is  the  destined  cave. 

SCENE  IV. 

A  forest.     In  the  Bach-ground  a  Cave.    Prometheus,  Asij 
Panthea,  Ione,  and  the  Spirit  of  the  Earth. 

lone.  Sister,  it  is  not  earthly:  how  it  glides 
Under  the  leaves !  how  on  its  head  there  burn3 
A  light,  like  a  green  star,  whose  emerald  beams 
Are  twined  with  its  fair  hair !  how,  as  it  moves, 
The  splendour  drops  in  flakes  upon  the  grass ! 
Knowest  thou  it? 

Pan.  It  is  the  delicate  spirit 

That  guides  the  earth  through  heaven.     From  afar 
The  populous  constellations  call  that  light 
The  loveliest  of  the  planets  ;  and  sometimes 
It  floats  along  the  spray  of  the  salt  sea, 
Or  makes  its  chariot  of  a  foggy  cloud, 
Or  walks  through  fields  or  cities  while  men  sleep, 
Or  o'er  the  mountain  tops,  or  down  the  rivers, 
Or  through  the  green  waste  wilderness,  as  now, 
Wondering  at  all  it  sees.     Before  Jove  reigned 
It  loved  our  sister  Asia,  and  it  came 
Each  leisure  hour  to  drink  the  liquid  light 
Out  of  her  eyes,  for  which  it  said  it  thirsted 
As  one  bit  by  a  dipsas,  and  with  her 
It  made  its  childish  confidence,  and  told  her 
All  it  had  known  or  seen,  for  it  saw  much, 
Yet  idly  reasoned  what  it  saw  ;  and  called  her, 
From  whence  it  sprung  it  knew  not,  nor  do  I, 
Mother,  dear  Mother. 

The  Spirit  of  the  Earth,  (running  to  Asia.) 

Mother,  dearest  Mother; 
May  I  then  talk  to  thee  as  I  was  wont? 
May  I  then  hide  my  eyes  in  thy  soft  arms, 
After  thy  looks  have  made  them  tired  of  joy; 
May  I  then  play  beside  thee  the  long  noons, 
When  work  is  none  in  the  bright  silent  air  ? 

Asia.  I  love  thee,  gentlest  being!  and  henceforth 
Can  cherish  thee  unenvied.     Speak,  I  pray : 
Thy  simple  talk  once  solaced,  now  delights.  [child 

Spirit  of  the  Earth.  Mother,  I  am  grown  wiser,  though  a 
Cannot  be  wise  like  thee,  within  this  day, 
And  happier  too  ;  happier  and  wiser  both. 
Thou  knowest  that  toads,  and  snakes,  and  loathly  worms 


PROMETHEUS  UNBOUND.  287 

And  venomous  and  malicious  beasts,  and  boughs 

That  bore  ill  berries  in  the  woods,  were  ever 

A  hindrance  to  my  walks  o'er  the  green  world ; 

And  that,  among  the  haunts  of  humankind, 

Hard-featured  men,  or  with  proud,  angry  looks, 

Or  cold  staid  gait,  or  false  and  hollow  smiles, 

Or  the  dull  sneer  of  self-loved  ignorance, 

Or  other  such  foul  masks,  with  which  ill  thoughts 

Hide  that  fair  being  whom  we  spirits  call  man ; 

And  women  too,  ugliest  of  all  things  evil, 

(Though  fair,  even  in  a  world  where  thou  art  fair, 

When  good  and  kind,  free  and  sincere,  like  thee,) 

When  false  or  frowning,  made  me  sick  at  heart 

To  pass  them,  though  they  slept,  and  I  unseen, 

Well,  my  path  lately  lay  through  a  great  city 

Into  the  woody  hills  surrounding  it : 

\  sentinel  was  sleeping  at  the  gate  : 

When  there  was  heard  a  sound,  so  loud,  it  shook 

The  towers  amid  the  moonlight,  yet  more  sweet 

Than  any  voice  but  thine,  sweetest  of  all, — 

A  long,  long  sound,  as  it  would  never  end  : 

And  all  the  inhabitants  leapt  suddenly 

Out  of  their  rest,  and  gathered  in  the  streets, 

Looking  in  wonder  up  to  Heaven,  while  yet 

The  music  pealed  along.     I  hid  myself 

Within  a  fountain  in  the  public  square, 

Where  I  lay  like  the  reflex  of  the  moon 

Seen  in  a  wave  under  green  leaves,  and  soon 

Those  ugly  human  shapes  and  visages, 

Of  which  I  spoke  as  having  wrought  me  pain, 

Pass'd  floating  through  the  air,  and  fading  still 

Into  the  winds  that  scattered  them  ;  and  those 

From  whom  they  pass'd  seemed  mild  and  lovely  forms 

After  some  foul  disguise  had  fallen,  and  all 

Were  somewhat  changed,  and,  after  brief  surprise 

And  greetings  of  delighted  wonder,  all 

Went  to  their  sleep  again:  and  when  the  dawn 

Came,  would 'st  thou  think  that  toads,  and  snakeSj  and  efts, 

Could  e'er  be  beautiful  ?  yet  so  they  were, 

And  that  with  little  change  of  shape  or  hue  : 

All  things  had  put  their  evil  nature  off. — 

I  cannot  tell  my  joy,  when,  o'er  a  lake 

Upon  a  drooping  bough  with  night-shade  twined, 

I  saw  two  azure  halcyons  clinging  downward 

And  thinning  one  bright  bunch  of  amberberries. 

With  quick  long  beaks,  and  in  the  deep  there  lay 

Those  lovely  forms  imaged  as  in  a  sky :      • 

So  with  my  thoughts  full  of  these  happy  changes, 

We  meet  again,  the  happiest  change  of  all. 

Asia.  And  never  will  we  part,  till  thy  chaste  sister, 
25* 


288  PROMETHEUS  UNBOUND. 

Who  guides  the  frozen  and  inconstant  moon, 
Will  look  on  thy  more  warm  and  equal  light 
Till  her  heart  thaw  like  flakes  of  April  snow, 
And  love  thee. — 

Spirit  of  the  Earth.  What!  as  Asia  loves  Prometheus. 

Asia.  Peace,  wanton!  thou  art  yet  not  old  enough. 
Think  ye  by  gazing  on  each  other's  eyes 
To  multiply  your  lovely  selves,  and  fill 
With  sphered  fires  the  interlunar  air?  [lamp 

Spirit  of  the  Earth.  Nay.  mother,  while  my  sister  trims  her 
'Tis  hard  I  should  go  darkling. 

Aiia.  Listen;  look! 

The  Spirit  of  the  Hour  enters. 

Pro.  We  feel  what  thou  hast  heard  and  seen :  yet  speak. 

Spirit  of  the  Hour.    Soon  as  the  sound  had  ceased  whose 
thunder  filled 
The  abysses  of  the  sky  and  the  wide  earth, 
There  was  a  change  :  the  impalpable  thin  air 
And  the  all-circling  sunlight  were  transformed, 
As  if  the  sense  of  love  dissolved  in  them. 
Had  folded  itself  round  the  sphered  world. 
My  vision  then  grew  clear,  and  I  could  see 
Into  the  mysteries  of  the  universe: 
Dizzy  as  with  delight  I  floated  down, 
Winnowing  the  lightsome  air  with  languid  plumes, 
My  coursers  sought  their  birth-place  in  the  sun, 
Where  they  henceforth  will  live  exempt  from  toil, 
Pasturing  flowers  of  vegetable  fire. 
And  where  my  moonlight  car  will  stand  within 
A  temple,  gazed  upon  by  Phidian  forms 
Of  thee,  and  Asia,  and  the  Earth,  and  me, 
And  you  fair  nymphs,  looking  the  love  we  feel, 
In  memory  of  the  tidings  it  has  borne ; 
Beneath  a  dome  fretted  with  graven  flowers, 
Poised  on  twelve  columns  of  resplendent  stone, 
And  open  to  the  bright  and  liquid  sky. 
Yoked  to  it  by  an  amphisbenic  snake, 
The  likeness  of  those  winged  steeds  will  mock 
The  flight  from  which  they  find  repose.     Alas, 
Whither  has  wandered  now  my  partial  tongue 
When  all  remains  untold  which  ye  would  hear  ? 
As  I  have  said,  I  floated  to  the  earth  : 
It  was  as  it  is  still,  the  pain  of  bliss 
To  move,  to  breathe,  to  be.     I  wandering  went 
Among  the  haunts  and  dwellings  of  mankind, 
And  first  was  disappointed  not  to  see 
Such  mighty  change»as  I  had  felt  within, 
Expressed  in  outward  things  ;  but  soon  1  looked, 
And,  behold  !  thrones  were  kingless,  and  men  walked 


PROMETHEUS  UNBOUND.  289 

One  with  the  other  even  as  spirits  do, 

None  fawned,  none  trampled ;  hate,  disdain,  or  fear, 

Self-love  or  self-contempt,  on  human  brows 

No  more  inscribed,  as  o'er  the  gate  of  hell, 

"  All  hope  abandon  ye  who  enter  here ;" 

None  frowned,  none  trembled,  none  with  eager  fear 

Gazed  on  another's  eye  of  cold  command, 

Until  the  subject  of  a  tyrant's  will 

Became,  worse  fate,  the  abject  of  his  own, 

Which  spurred  him,  like  an  outspent  horse,  to  death. 

None  wrought  his  lips  in  truth-entangling  lines 

Which  smiled  the  lie  his  tongue  disdained  to  speak ; 

None,  with  firm  sneer,  trod  out  in  his  own  heart 

The  sparks  of  love  anct  hope  till  there  remained 

Those  bitter  ashes,  a  soul  self-consumed, 

And  the  wretch  crept  a  vampire  among  men, 

Infecting  all  with  his  own  hideous  ill ; 

None  talked  that  common,  false,  cold,  hollow  talk, 

Which  makes  the  heart  deny  the  yes  it  breathes, 

Yet  question  that  unmeant  hypocrisy 

With  such  a  self-mistrust  as  has  no  name, 

And  women,  too,  frank,  beautiful,  and  kind 

As  the  free  heaven  which  rains  fresh  light  and  dew 

On  the  wide  earth,  pass'd  ;  gentle  radiant  forms, 

From  custom's  evil  taint  exempt  and  pure  ; 

Speaking  the  wisdom  once  they  could  not  think, 

Looking  emotions  once  they  feared  to  feel, 

And  changed  to  all  which  once  they  daied  not  be, 

Yet  being  now,  made  earth  like  heaven  ;  noi  pride, 

Nor  jealousy,  nor  envy,  nor  ill  shame, 

The  bitterest  of  those  drops  of  treasured  gall, 

Spoilt  the  sweet  taste  of  the  nepenthe,  love. 

Thrones,  altars,  judgment-seats,  and  prisons,  wherein. 

And  beside  which,  by  wretched  men  were  borne 

Sceptres,  tiaras,  swords,  and  chains,  and  tomes 

Of  reasoned  wrong,  glozed  on  by  ignorance, 

Were  like  those  monstrous  and  barbaric  shapes, 

The  ghosts  of  a  no  more  remembered  fame, 

Which,  from  their  unworn  obelisks,  look  forth 

In  triumph  o'er  the  palaces  and  tombs 

Of  those  who  were  their  conquerors ;  mouldering  round 

Those  imaged  to  the  pride  of  kings  and  priests, 

A  dark  yet  mighty  faith,  a  power  as  wide 

As  is  the  world  it  wasted,  and  are  now 

But  an  astonishment;  even  so  the  tools 

And  emblems  of  its  last  captivity, 

Amid  the  dwellings  of  the  peopled  earth, 

Stand  not  o'erthrovvn,  but  unregarded  now. 

And  those  foul  shapes,  abhorred  by  god  and  man, 


290  PROMETHEUS  UNBOUND. 

Which,  under  m;uiy  a  name  and  many  a  fcna, 
Strange,  savage,  ghastly,  dark,  and  execrable, 
Were  Jupiter,  the  tyrant  of  the  world  ; 
And  which  the  nations,  panic-stricken,  served 
With  blood,  and  hearts  broken  by  long  hope,  and  love 
Dragged  to  his  altars  soiled  and  garlandless, 
And  slain  among  men's  unreclaiming  tears, 
Flattering  the  thing  they  feared,  which  fear  was  hate, 
Frown,  mouldering  fast,  >'er  their  abandoned  shrines  j 
The  painted  veil,  by  those  who  were,  called  life, 
Which  mimicked,  as  with  colours  idly  spread, 
All  men  believed  and  hoped,  is  torn  aside ; 
The  loathsome  mask  has  fallen,  the  man  remains 
Sceptreless,  free,  uncircumscribsd,  but  man 
Equal,  unclassed,  tribeless,  and  nationless, 
Exempt  from  awe,  worship,  degree,  the  king 
Over  himself;  just,  gentle,  wise  :  but  man 
Passionless  ;  no,  yet  free  from  guilt  or  pain, 
Which  were,  for  his  will  made  or  suffered  them, 
Nor  yet  exempt,  though  ruling  them  like  slaves, 
From  chance,  and  death,  and  mutability, 
The  clogs  of  that  which  else  might  oversoar 
The  loftiest  star  of  unascended  heaven, 
Pinnacled  dim  in  the  intense  inane. 


ACT  IV. 

Scene,  a  part  of  the  Forest  near  the  Cave  of  Prometheus, 
Panthea  and  Ione  are  sleeping ;  they  awake  gradually 
during  the  first  Song. 

Voice  of  unseen  Spirits. 

The  pale  stars  are  gone! 
For  the  sun,  their  swift  shepherd, 
To  their  folds  them  compelling, 
In  the  depths  of  the  dawn, 
Hastes,  in  meteor-eclipsing  array,  and  they  flee 
Beyond  his  blue  dwelling 
As  fawns  flee  the  leopard. 
But  where  are  ye  ? 

A  Train  of  dark  Forms  and  Shadows  passes  by  confusedly  singing 

Here,  oh  !  here  : 

We  bear  the  bier 
Of  the  Father  of  many  a  cancelled  year ! 

Spectres  we, 

Of  the  dead  Hours  be, 
We  bear  Time  to  his  tomb  in  eternity. 

Strew,  oh,  strew 

Hair,  not  yew ! 


PROMETHEUS  UNBOUND.  291 

Wet  the  dusty  pall  with  tears,  not  dew ! 

Be  the  faded  flowers 

Of  Death's  bare  bowers 
Spread  on  the  corpse  of  the  King  of  Hours! 

Haste,  oh,  Haste  ! 

As  shades  are  chased,  , 

Trembling,  by  day,  from  heaven's  blue  waste. 

We  melt  away, 
Like  dissolving  spray, 
From  the  children  of  a  diviner  day, 
With  the  lullaby 
Of  winds  that  die 
On  the  bosom  of  their  own  harmony  ! 

lone.  What  dark  forms  were  they  ? 

1  an.  The  past  Hours,  weak  and  grey 

With  the  spoil  which  their  toil 

Raked  together 
From  the  conpuest  but  One  could  foil. 
lone.  Have  they  pass'd  ? 

Pan.  They  have  pass'd  ; 

They  outspeeded  the  blast, 
While  'tis  said,  they  are  fled. 
lone.  Wither,  oh,  whither? 

Pan.  To  the  dark,  to  the  past,  to  the  dead. 

Voice  of  unseen  Spirits. 
Bright  clouds  float  in  heaven, 
Dew  stars  gleam  on  earth, 
Waves  assemble  on  ocean, 
They  are  gathered  and  driven 
By  the  siorm  of  delight,  by  the  panic  of  glee  I 
They  shake  with  emotion, 
They  dance  in  their  mirth. 
But  where  are  ye  1 

The  pine-boughs  are  singing 

Old  songs  with  new  gladness, 

The  billows  and  fountains 

Fresh  music  are  flinging, 
Like  the  notes  of  a  spirit  from  land  and  from  sea : 

The  storms  mock  the  mountains 

With  the  thunder  of  gladnesss, 
But  where  are  ye  ? 
lone.  What  charioteers  are  these  ? 

Pan.  Where  are  their  chariote  ? 

Semichorus  of  Hours. 
The  voice  of  the  Spirits  of  Air  and  Earth 
Have  drawn  back  the  figured  curtain  of  sleep 


292  PROMETHEUS  UNBOUND. 

Which  covered  our  being  and  darkened  our  birth 

In  the  deep 

A  voice.  In  the  deep? 

Semichorus  II.  Oh,  below  the  deep. 

Semichorus  I.     A  hundred  ages  we  had  been  kept 
Cradled  in  visions  of  hate  and  care, 
And  each  one  who  waked  as  his  brother  slept 
Found  the  truth — 

Semichorus  II.  Worse  than  hi*  visions  were  ! 

Semichorus  I.  Wc  have  heard  the  lute  of  Hope  in  sleep ; 
We  have  known  the  voice  of  Love  in  dreams, 
We  have  felt  the  wand  of  Power  and  leap — 

Semichorus  II.     As  the  billows  leap  in  the  morning  beams? 

Chorus.     Weave  the  dance  on  the  floor  of  the  breeze, 
Pierce  with  song  heaven's  silent  light, 
Enchant  the  day  that  too  swiftly  flees, 
To  check  its  light  ere  the  cave  of  night. 

Once  the  hungry  Hours  were  hounds 

Which  chased  the  day  like  a  bleeding  deer, 

And  it  limped  and  stumbled  with  many  wounds 
Through  the  nightly  dells  of  the  desert  year. 

But  now,  oh  weave  the  mystic  measure 
Of  music,  and  dance,  and  shapes  of  light : 

Let  the  Hours,  and  the  spirits  of  might  and  pleasure. 
Like  the  clouds  and  sunbeams  unite. 

A  voice.  Unite ! 

Pan.  See,  where  the  Spirits  of  the  human  mind, 
Wrapt  in  sweet  sounds,  as  in  bright  veils  approach. 
Chorus  of  Spirits.     We  join  the  throng, 

Of  the  dance  and  the  song, 
By  the  whirlwind  of  gladness  borne  along ; 
As  the  flying-fish  leap 
From  the  Indian  deep, 
And  mix  with  the  sea-birds,  half  asleep 
Chorus  of  Hours.  Whence  come  ye,  so  wild  andso  fleet 
For  sandals  of  lightning  are  on  your  feet 
And  your  wings  are  soft  and  swift  as  thought, 
And  your  eyes  are  as  love  which  is  veiled  not  ? 
Chorus  of  Spirits.     We  come  from  the  mind 
Of  human  Vind, 
Which  was  late  so  dusk,  and  obscene,  and  bliui  : 
Now  'tis  an  ocean 
Of  clear  emotion, 
A  heaven  of  serene  and  mighty  motion. 
From  that  deep  abyss 
Of  wonder  and  bliss, 


PROMETHEUS  UNBOUND.  293 

Whose  caverns  are  crystal  palaces; 
From  those  skiey  towers 
Where  Thought's  crowned  powers 

Sit  watching  your  dance,  ye  happy  Hours  1 

From  the  dim  recesses 

Of  woven  caresses, 
Where  lovers  catch  ye  by  your  loose  tresses  ; 

From  the  azure  isles 

Where  sweet  Wisdom  smiles, 
Delaying  your  ships  with  her  syren  wile* 

From  the  temples  high 

Of  Man's  ear  and  eye, 
Roofed  over  Sculpture  and  Poesy;' 

From  the  murmurings 

Of  the  unsealed  springs 
Where  Science  bedews  his  Daedal  wings. 

Years  after  years, 

Through,  blood  and  tears, 
And  a  thick  hell  of  hatreds,  and  hopes,  and  feara 

We  waded  and  flew, 

And  the  islets  were  few 
Where  the  bud-blighted  flowers  of  happiness  grew. 

Our  feet  now,  every  palm, 

Are  sandall'd  with  calm, 
And  the  dew  of  our  wings  is  a  reign  of  balm  ; 

And  beyond  our  eyes, 

The  human  love  lies 
Which  makes  all  it  gazes  on  Paradise. 

Chorus  of  Spirits  and  Hours. 

Then  weave  the  web  of  the  mystic  measure ; 
From  the  depths  of  the  sky  and  the  ends  of  the  earth 

Come,  swift  Spirits  of  might  and  of  pleasure, 
Fill  the  dance  and  the  music  of  mirth, 

As  the  waves  of  a  thousand  streams  rush  by 

To  an  ocean  of  slendour  and  harmony! 

Chorus  of  Spieits.     Our  spoil  is  won, 
Our  task  is  done, 
We  are  free  to  dive,  or  soar,  or  run  t 
•  Beyond  and  around, 
Or  within  the  bound 
Which  clips  the  world  with  darkness  round. 

We'll  pass  the  eyes 
Of  the  starry  skies 


294  PROMETHEUS  UNBOUND. 

Into  the  h^ar  deep  to  colonize: 

Deathj  Chaos,  and  Night, 

From  the  sound  of  our  flight, 
Shall  flee,  like  mist  from  a  tempest's  might 

And  Earth,  Air,  and  Light, 

And  the  Spirit  of  Might, 
Which  drives  round  the  stars  in  their  fiery  flight; 

And  Love,  Thought,  and  Breath, 

The  powers  that  quell  Death, 
Wherever  we  soar,  Bhall  assemble  beneath. 

And  our  singing  shall  build 

In  the  void's  loose  field 
A  world  for  the  Spirit  of  Wisdom  to  wield  ; 

We  will  take  our  plan 

From  the  new  world  of  man, 
And  our  work  shall  be  called  the  Promethean. 

Chorus  of  Hours.     Break  the  dance,  and  scatter  the  song; 

Let  some  depart,  and  some  remain. 
Semichorus  I.     We,  beyond  heaven,  are  driven  along  : 
Semichorus  II.     Us  the  enchantments  of  earth  retain  : 
Semichorus  I.  Ceaseless,  and  rapid,  and  fierce,  and  free, 
With  the  Spirits  which  build  a  new  earth  and  sea, 
And  a  heaven  where  yet  heaven  could  never  be. 
Semichorus  II.     Solemn,  and  slow,  and  serene,  and  bright. 

Leading  the  Day  and  outspeeding  the  Night, 

With  the  powers  of  a  world  of  perfect  light. 
Semichorus  I.     We  whirl,  singing  loud,  round  the  gathering 

sphere, 
Till  the  trees,  and  the  beasts,  and  the  clouds,  appear 
From  its  chaos,  made  calm,  by  love,  not  fear. 
Semichorus  II.     We  encircle  the  ocean  and  mountains  of  earth 

And  the  happy  forms  of  its  death  and  birth 

Change  to  the  music  of  our  sweet  mirth. 

Chorus  of  Hours  and  Spirits. 
Break  the  dance  and  scatter  the  scn«-, 

Let  some  depart,  and  some  remain  ; 
Wherever  we  fly  we  lead  along 
In  leashes,  like  star-beams,  soft  yet  strong, 

The  clouds  that  are  heavy  with  love's  sweet  rain. 

Pan.     Ha  !  they  are  gone  ! 

lone.  Yet  feel  you  no  delight 

From  the  past  sweetness  ? 

Pan.  As  the  bare  green  hill, 

When  some  soft  cloud  vanishes  into  rain, 
Laughs  with  a  thousand  drops  of  sunny  water 
To  the  unpavilioned  skv  ! 

lone.  Even  whilst  we  speak 


PROMETHEUS  UNBOUND.  295 

New  notes  arise.     What  is  that  awful  sound  ? 

Pan.     'Tis  the  deep  music  of  the  rolling  world 
Kindling  within  the  strings  of  the  waved  air 
iEolian  modulations. 

lone.  Listen  too, 

How  every  pause  is  filled  with  under-notes, 
Clear,  silver,  icy,  keen,  awakening  tones, 
Which  pierce  the  sense,  and  live  within  the  soul, 
As  the  sharp  stars  pierce  winter's  crystal  air, 
And  gaze  upon  themselves  with  in  the  sea 

Pan.     But  see  where,  through  two  openings  in  the  forest^ 
Which  hanging  branches  overcanopy, 
And  where  two  runnels  of  a  rivulet, 
Between  the  close  moss  violet-inwoven, 
Have  made  their  path  of  melody,  like  sisters 
Who  part  with  sighs  that  they  may  meet  in  smiJts, 
Turning  their  dear  disunion  to  an  isle 
Of  lovely  grief,  a  wood  of  sweet  sad  thoughts  ; 
Two  visions  of  strange  radiance  float  upon 
The  ocean-like  enchantment  of  strong  sound, 
Which  flows  intenser,  keener,,  deeper  yet, 
Under  the  ground  and  through  the  windless  air. 

lone.     I  see  a  chariot  like  that  thinnest  boat, 

In  which  the  mother  of  the  months  is  borne 

By  ebbing  night  into  her  western  cave, 

When  she  upsprings  from  interlunar  dreams, 

O'er  which  is  curved  an  orb-like  canopy 

Of  gentle  darknsss,  and  the  hills  and  woods 

Distinctly  seen  through  that  dusk  airy  veil, 

Regard  like  shapes  in  an  enchanter's  glass; 

Its  wheels  are  solid  clouds,  azure  and  gold, 

Such  as  the  genii  of  the  thunder-storm 

Pile  on  the  floor  of  the  illumined  sea 

When  the  sun  rushes  under  it ;   they  roll, 

And  move,  and  grow,  as  with  an  inward  wind  ; 

Within  it  sits  a  winged  infant;  white 

Its  countenance,  like  the  whiteness  of  bright  snow ; 

Its  plumes  are  as  feathers  of  sunny  frost; 

Its  limbs  gleam  white,  through  the  wind-flowing  folds 

Of  its  white  robe,  woof  of  aetherial  pearl, 

Its  hair  is  white,  the  brightness  of  white  light 

Scattered  in  strings ;  yet  its  two  eyes  are  heavens 

Of  liquid  darkness,  which  the  Deiiy 

Within  seems  pouring,  as  a  storm  is  poured 

From  jagged  clouds,  out  of  their  arrowy  lashes, 

Tempering  the  cold  and  radiant  air  around, 

With  fire  that  is  not  brightness;  in  its  hand 

It  sways  a  quivering  moon-beam,  from  whose  point 

A  guiding  power  directs  the  chariot's  prow 

Over  its  wheeled  clouds,  which  as  they  roll, 
>         ,.K  j        j 


296  PROMETHEUS  UNBOUND. 

Over  the  grass,  and  flowers,  and  waves  wake  sound*. 
Sweet  as  a  singing  rain  of  silver  dew. 

Pan.     And  from  the  other  opening  a    u  c  wood 
Rushes,  with  loud  and  whirlwind  lw.rmoiiy, 
A  sphere,  which  is  as  many  thousand  sphere*. 
Solid  as  crystal,  yel  through  all  its  n.a^i 
Flow,  as  through  empty  space,  music  and  light: 
Ten  thousand  orbs  involving  and  invciru4, 
Purple  and  azure,  white,  green  and  golden, 
Sphere  within  sphere  ;    and  every  space  between 
Peopled  with  unimaginable  shapes, 
Such  as  ghosts  dream,  dwell  in  the  lampless  deep, 
Yet  ea^h  int^r-transpicuous,  and  they  whirl 
Over  each  other  with  a  thousand  motions, 
Upon  a  thousand  sightless  axles  spinning, 
And  with  the  face  of  self-destroying  swift*  es. 
Intensely,  slowly,  solemnly,  roll  on, 
Kindling  with  mingled  sounds  and  many  tones, 
Intelligible  words  and  music  wild. 
With  mighty  whirl  the  multitudinyus  orb 
Grind  the  brig-lit  brook  into  an  azurr  mist 
Of  elemental  subtlety,  like  light: 
And  the  wild  odour  of  the  forest  flowers, 
The  music  of  the  living  grass  and  air, 
The  emerald  light  of  leaf-entangled  beams 
Pound  its  intense  yet  self-conflicting  speed, 
Seem  kneeded  into  one  aerial  mass 
Which  drown  the  sense.     Within  the  orb  itself, 
Pillowed  upon  its  alabaster  arms, 
Like  to  a  child  o'erwearied  with  sweet  toil, 
On  its  own  folded  wings  and  wavy  hair. 
The  Spirit  of  the  Earth  is  laid  asleep, 
And  you  can  see  its  little  lips  are  moving, 
Amid  the  changing  light  of  their  own  smiles, 
Like  one  who  talks  of  what  he  loves  in  dream. 

lone.   'Tis  only  mocking  the  orb's  harmony. 

Pan.    And  from  a  star  upon  its  forehead  shoot 
Like  swords  of  azure  fire,  or  golden  spears 
With  tyrant-quelling  myrtle  overtwined 
Embleming  heaven  and  earth  united  now 
Vast  beams  like  soke  of  some  invisible  wheel 
Which  whirl  as  the  orb  whirls,  swifter  thar-  thought, 
Filling  the  abyss  with  sun-like  lightnings, 
And  perpendicular  now,  and  now  transverse, 
Pierce  the  dark  soil,  and  as  they  pierce  and  pass 
Make  bare  the  secret  of  the  earth's  deep  heart ; 
Infinite  mine  of  adamant  and  gold, 
Valueless  stones,  and  unimagined  gems, 
And  caverns  on  crystalline  columns  poised 
With  vegetable  silver  overspread; 


PROMETHEUS  UNBOUND.  297 

Wells  of  unfathomed  fire,  and  water  springs 

Whence  the  great  sea,  even  as  a  child  is  fed, 

Whose  vapours  clothe  earth's  monarch  mountain-tops 

With  kingly  ermine  snow.     The  beams  flash  on 

And  make  appear  the  melancholy  ruins 

Of  cancelled  cycles  ;   anchors,  heaks  of  ships  ; 

Planks  turned  to  marble  :   quivers,  helms,  and  spears, 

And  gorgon-headed  targes,  and  the  wheels 

Of  scythed  chariots,  and  the  emblazonry 

Of  trophies,  standards,  and  armorial  beasts, 

Round  which  death  laughed,  sepulchred  emblems 

Of  dead  destruction,  ruin  within  ruin  ! 

The  wrecks  beside  of  many  a  city  vast, 

Whose  population  which  the  earth  grew  over 

Was  mortal,  but  not  human ;    see,  they  lie 

Their  monstrous  works,  and  uncouth  skeletons, 

Their  statues,  homes,  and  fanes ;  prodigious  shapes, 

Huddled  in  grey  annihilation,  split, 

Jammed  in  the  hard,  black  deep  ;  and  over  these 

The  anatomies  of  unknown  winged  things, 

And  fishes  which  were  isles  of  living  scale, 

And  serpents,  bony  chains,  twisted  around 

The  iron  crags,  or  within  heaps  of  dust 

To  which  the  tortuous  strength  of  their  last  pangs 

Had  crushed  the  iron  crags  ;  and  over  these 

The  jagged  alligator,  and  the  might 

Of  earth-convulsing  behemoth,  which  once 

Were  monarch  beasts,  and  on  the  slimy  shores, 

And  weed  over-grown  continents  of  earth, 

Increased  and  multiplied  like  summer  worms 

On  an  abandoned  corpse,  till  the  blue  globe 

Wrapt  deluge  round  it  like  a  cloak,  and  they 

Yelled,  gasped,  and  were  abolished  ;  or  some  God, 

Whose  throne  was  in  a  comet,  pass'd,  and  cried, 

Be  not !     And  like  my  words,  they  were  no  more. 

The  Earth.    The  joy,  the  triumph,  the  delight,  the  madness ! 

The  boundless,  overflowing,  bursting,  gladness, 

The  vaporous  exultation  not  to  be  confined  ! 
Ha!  ha!  the  animation  of  delight 
Which  wraps  me  like  an  atmosphere  of  light, 

And  bears  me  as  a  cloud  is  borne  by  its  own  wind. 

The  Moon.     Brother  mine,  calm  wanderer, 
Happy  globe  of  land  and  air, 
Some  spirit  is  darted  like  a  beam  from  thee, 
Which  penetrates  my  frozen  frame, 
And  passes,  with  the  warmth  of  flame, 
With  love,  and  odour,  and  deep  melody, 
Through  me,  through  me  ! 


298  PROMETHEUS  UNBOUND. 

The  Earth.     Ha!  ha!  the  caverns  of  my  hollow  mountains, 
My  cloven  fire-crags,  sound-exulting  fountains, 
Laugh  with  a  vast  and  inextinguishable  laughter. 
The  oceans,  and  the  deserts,  and  the  abysses, 
And  the  deep  air's  unmeasured  wildernesses, 
Answer  from  all  their  clouds  and  billows,  echoing  after. 

They  cry  aloud,  as  1  do.    Sceptred  curse, 

Who  all  our  green  and  azure  universe 
Threatenedst  to  muffle  round  with  black  destruction,  sending 

A  solid  cloud  to  rain  hot  thunder-stones, 

And  splinter  and  knead  down  my  children's  bones, 
All  I  bring  forth,  to  one  void  mass  battering  and  blending. 

Until  each  crag-like  tower,  and  storied  column, 

Palace,  and  obelisk,  and  temple  solemn, 
My  imperial  mountains  crowned  with  cloud,  and  snow  and  fire; 

My  sea  like  forests,  every  blade  and  blossom 

Which  finds  a  grave  or  cradle  in  my  bosom, 
Were  stamped  by  thy  strong  hate  into  a  lifeless  mire. 

How  art  thou  sunk,  withdrawn,  covered,  drunk  up 

By  thirsty  nothing,  as  the  brackish  cup, 
Drained  by  a  desert-troop,  a  little  drop  for  all ! 

And  from  beneath,  around,  within,  above, 

Filling  thy  void  annihilation,  love 
Bursts  in,  like  light,  on  caves  cloven  by  thunder -ball. 

The  Moon.     The  snow  upon  my  lifeless  mountains 
Is  loosened  into  living  fountains, 
My  solid  oceans  flow,  and  sing,  and  shine  : 

A  spirit  from  my  heart  bursts  forth, 
It  clothes,  with  unexpected  birth, 
My  cold  bare  bosom  :  Oh  !  it  must  be  thine 
On  mine,  on  mine  ! 

Gazing  on  thee,  I  feel,  I  know, 

Green  stalks  burst  forth,  and  bright  flowers  grow, 
And  living  shapes  upon  my  bosom  move  : 

Music  is  in  the  sea  and  air, 

Winged  clouds  soar  here  and  there, 
Dark  with  the  rain  new  buds  are  dreaming  of: 
'Tis  love,  all  love  ! 

the  Earth.     It  interpenetrates  my  granite  mass, 
Through  tangled  roots  and  trodden  clay  doth  pass, 

Into  the  utmost  leaves  and  delicatest  flowers  ; 

Upon  the  winds,  among  the  clouds,  'tis  sprea ', 
It  wakes  a  life  in  the  forgotten  dead, 

They  breathe  a  spirit  up  from  their  obscurest  bowers. 

And  like  a  storm, "bursting  its  cloudy  ,  imos 
With  thunder,  and,  with  whirlwind,  has  arisen 


PROMETHEUS  UNBOUND.  299 

Out  of  the  lampless  caves  of  unimagined  b*:>vig  : 

W  ith  earthquake  shock  and  swiftness  making  shiver 
Thought's  stagnant  chaos,  unremoved  for  ever, 

Till  hate,  and  fear,  and  pain,  light-vanquished  shadows,  fleeing, 

Leave  Man,  who  was  a  many-sided  mirror, 
Which  could  distort  to  many  a  shape  of  error, 

This  true  fair  world  of  things,  a  sea-reflecting  love  ; 
Which  over  all  his  kind,  as  the  sun's  heaven 
Gliding  o'er  ocean,  smooth,  serene,  and  even, 

Darting  from  starry  depths  radiance  and  light,  doth  move  : 

Leave  Man,  even  as  a  leprous  child  is  left, 

Who  follows  a  sick  beast  to  some  warm  cleft 
Of  rocks,  through  which  the  might  of  healing  springs  is  poured ; 

Then,  when  it  wanders  home,  with  rosy  smile, 

Unconscious,  and  its  mother  fears  awhile 
It  is  a  spirit,  then,  weeps  on  her  child  restored. 

Man,  oh,  not  men  !  a  chain  of  linked  thought, 

Of  love  and  might  to  be  divided  not, 
Compelling  the  elements,  with  adamantine  stross  ; 

As  the  sun  rules,  even  with  a  tyrant's  gaze, 

The  unquiet  republic  of  the  maze 
Of  planets,  struggling  fierce  towards  heaven's  free  wilderness. 

Man,  one  harmonious  soul  of  many  a  soul, 

Whose  nature  is  its  own  divine  control, 
Where  all  things  flow  to  all,  as  rivers  to  the  sea  : 

Familiar  acts  are  beautiful  through  love  ; 

Labour,  and  pain,  and  grief,  in  life's  green  grove 
Sport  like  tame  beasts,  none  knew  how  gentle  they  could  be  ! 

His  will,  with  all  mean  passions,  bad  delights, 

And  selfish  cares,  its  trembling  satellites, 
A  spirit  ill  to  guide,  but  mighty  to  obey, 

Is  as  a  tempest-winged  ship,  whose  helm 

Love  rules,  through  waves  which  dare  not  overwhelm, 
Forcing  life's  wildest  shores  to  own  its  sovereign  sway. 

All  things  confess  his  strength.     Through  the  cold  mass 
Of  marble  and  of  colour  his  dreams  pass  ;  [wear  ; 

Bright  threads  whence  mothers  weave  the  robes  their  children 
Language  is  a  perpetual  Orphic  song 
Which  rules  with  Daedal  harmony  a  throng 

Of  thoughts  and  forms,  which  else,  senseless  and  shapeless  were. 

The  lightning  is  his  slave  ;  heaven's  utmost  deep 
Gives  up  her  stars,  and  like  a  flock  of  sheep 

They  pass  before  his  eye,  are  numbered,  and  roll  on  ! 
The  tempest  is  his  steed,  he  strides  the  air  : 
And  the  abyss  shouts,  from  her  depth  laid  bare, 

Heaven,  hast  thou  secrets  .'     Man  unveils  me  ;  I  have  none. 
26* 


300  PROMETHEUS  UNBOUND. 

The  Moon.     The  shadow  of  white  death  has  pass'd 
From  my  path  in  heaven  at  last, 
A  clinging  shroud  of  solid  frost  and  sleep  ; 
And  through  my  newly-woven  bowers 
Wander,  happy  paramours, 
Less  mighty,  but  as  mild  as  those  who  keep 
Thy  vales  more  deep. 

The  Earth.  As  the  dissolving  warmth  of  dawn  may  fold 
A  half  unfrozen  dew-globe,  green,  and  gold, 
And  crystalline,  till  it  becomes  a  winged  mist, 
And  wanders  up  the  vault  of  the  blue  day, 
Outlives  the  noon,  and  on  the  sun's  last  ray 
Hangs  o'er  the  sea,  a  fleece  of  fire  and  amethyst. 
The  Moon.     Thou  art  folded,  thou  arf  lying 
In  the  light,  which  is  undying, 
Of  thine  own  joy,  and  heaven's  smile  divine; 
All  suns  and  constellations  shower 
On  thee  a  light,  a  life,  a  power 
Which  doth  array  thy  sphere  ;  thou  pourcst  thine 
On  mine,  on  mine  ! 

The  Earth.     I  spin  beneath  my  pyramid  of  night, 
Which  points  into  the  heavens  dreaming  delight, 

Murmuring  victorious  joy  in  my  enchanted  sleep  ; 
As  a  youth  lulled  in  love-dreams,  faintly  sighing, 
Under  the  shadow  of  his  beauty  lying, 

Which  round  his  rest  a  watch  of  light  and  warmth  doth  keep. 

The  Moon.     As  in  the  soft  and  sweet  eclipse 
When  soul  meets  soul  on  lovers'  lips, 
High  hearts  are  calm,  and  brightest  eyes  are  dull, 
So,  when  thy  shadow  falls  on  me, 
Then  am  I  mute  and  still,  by  thee 
Covered  ;  of  thy  love,  Orb  most  beautiful, 
Full,  oh,  too  full ! 

Thou  art  speeding  round  the  sun, 

Brightest  world  of  many  a  one  ; 

Green  and  azure  sphere,  which  shinest 

With  a  light  which  is  divinest 

Among  all  the  lamps  of  Heaven, 

To  whom  life  and  light  is  given  ; 

I,  thy  crystal  paramour, 

Borne  beside  thee  by  a  power 

Like  the  polar  Paradise, 

Magnet-like,  of  lovers'  eyes  ; 

I,  a  most  enamour'd  maiden, 

Whose  weak  brain  is  overladen 

With  the  pleasure  of  her  love, 

Maniac-like,  around  thee  move, 

Gazing,  an  insatiate  bride, 


PROMETHEUS  UNBOUND.  301 

On  thy  form  from  every  side, 
Like  a  Maenad,  round  the  cup 
Which  Agave  lifted  up 
In  the  weird  Cadmaean  forest. 
Brother,  wheresoe'er  thou  soarest 
I  must  hurry,  whirl  and  follow 
Through  the  heavens  wide  and  hollow, 
Sheltered  by  the  warm  embrace 
Of  thy  soul  from  hungry  space, 
Drinking,  from  thy  sense  and  sight, 
Beauty,  majesty,  and  might, 
As  a  lover  or  cameleon 
Grows  like  what  it  looks  upon, 
As  a  violet's  gentle  eye 
Gazes  on  the  azure  sky 
Until  its  hue  grows  like  what  it  beholds, 
Asa  grey  and  watery  mist 
Glows  like  solid  amethyst 
Athwart  the  western  mountain  it  enfolds, 
When  the  sunset  sleeps 
Upon  its  snow. 
The  Earth.  And  the  weak  day  weeps 
That  it  should  be  so. 
O  gentle  Moon,  the  voice  of  thy  delight 
Falls  on  me  like  thy  clear  and  tender  light 
Soothing  the  seaman,  borne  the  summer  night 

Through  isles  for  ever  calm  ; 
O  gentle  Moon,  thy  crystal  accents  pierce 
The  caverns  of  my  pride's  deep  universe, 
Charming  the  tiger  joy,  whose  tramplings  fierce 
Made  wounds  which  need  thy  balm. 
Pan.  I  rise  as  from  a  bath  of  sparkling  water, 
A  bath  of  azure  light,  among  dark  rocks, 
Out  of  the  stream  of  sound. 

lone.  Ah  me  !  sweet  sister, 

The  stream  of  sound  has  ebbed  away  from  us, 
And  you  pretend  to  rise  out  of  its  wave, 
Because  your  words  fall  like  the  clear  soft  dew 
Shaken  from  a  bathing  wood-nymph's  limbs  and  hair. 

Pan.  Peace,  peace  !    A  mighty  Power,  which  is  as  darkness, 
Is  rising  out  of  Earth,  and  from  the  sky 
Is  showered  like  night,  and  from  within  the  air 
Bursts,  like  eclipse  which  had  been  gathered  up 
Into  the  pores  of  sunlight ;   the  bright  visions, 
Wherein  the  singing  spirits  rode  and  shone, 
Gleam  like  pale  meteors  through  a  watery  night. 
lone.  There  is  a  sense  of  words  upon  mine  ear. 
Pan.  An  universal  sound  like  words  :  Oh,  list! 
Dem.  Thou,  Earth,  calm  empire  of  a  happy  soul, 
Sphere  of  divinest  shapes  and  harmonies, 


302  PROMETHEUS  UNBOUND. 

Beautiful  orb  !  gathering  as  thou  dost  roll 

The  love  which  paves  thy  path  along  the  skies  : 
The  Earth.   I  hear  :   I  am  as  a  drop  of  dew  that  dies. 
Dem.  Thou  Moon,  which  gazest  on  the  nightly  Earth 
With  wonder,  as  it  gazes  upon  thee  ; 
Whilst  each  to  men,  and  beasts,  and  the  swift  birth 
Of  birds,  is  beauty,  love,  calm,  harmony  : 
The  Moon.   I  hear  :   lama  leaf  shaken  by  thee  ! 
Dem.  Ye  kings  of  suns  and  stars  !   Daemons  and  Gods, 
^Ethereal  Dominations  !  who  possess 
Elysian,  windless,  fortunate  abodes 

Beyond  Heaven's  constellated  wilderness  : 

A  J'oice  from  above. 
Our  great  Republic  hears  ;  we  are  blest,  and  bless. 
Dem.     Ye  happy  dead  !  whom  beams  of  brightest  verse 
Are  clouds  to  hide,  not  colours  to  portray, 
Whether  your  nature  is  that  universe 
Which  once  ye  saw  and  suffered — 
A  Voice  from  beneath.  Or  as  they 

Whom  we  have  left,  we  change  and  pass  away. 
Dem.     Ye  elemental  Genii,  who  have  homes 

From  man's  high  mind  even  to  the  central  stor^ 
Of  sullen  lead  ;  from  Heaven's  star-fretted  domes 
To  the  dull  weed  some  sea-worm  battens  on  : 

A  confused  voice. 
We  hear  :  thy  words  waken  Oblivion. 
Dem.     Spirits  !  whose  homes  are  flesh  :  ye  beasts,  and  birds, 
Ye  worms  and  fish  ;  ye  living  leaves  and  buds  ; 

Lightning  and  wind  ;  and  ye  untameable  herds, 
Meteors  and  mists,  which  throng  air's  solitudes. 
A  Voice.     Thy  voice  to  us  is  wind  among  still  woods. 
Dem.     Man,  who  wert  once  a  despot  and  a  slave  ; 
A  dupe  and  a  deceiver ;  a  decay  ; 
A  traveller  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave 

Through  the  diii  night  of  this  immortal  day: 
All.     Speak  !  thy  strong  words  may  never  pass  away. 

Dem.     This  the  day,  which  down  the  void  abysm 
At  the  Earth-horn's  spell  yawns  for  Heaven's  despotism, 

And  Conquest  is  dragged  captive  through  file  deep 
Love  from  its  awful  throne  of  patient  power 
in  the  wise  heart,  from  the  last  giddy  hour 

Of  dread  endurance,  from  the  slippery  steep, 
And  narrow  verge  of  crag-like  agony,  springs 
And  folds  over  the  world  its  healing  wings. 

Gentleness,  Virtue,  Wisdom,  and  Endurance, 
These  are  the  seals  of  that  most  firm  assurance 

Which  bars  the  pit  over  Destruction's  strength  ; 
And  if  with  infirm  hand,  Eternity, 
Mother  cf  many  acts  and  hours,  should  free 


PROMETHEUS  UNBOUND. 

The  serpent  that  would  clasp  her  with  his  length, 
These  are  the  spells  by  which  to  re-assume 
.An  empire  o'er  the  disentangled  doom. 
To  suffer  woes  which  Hope  thinks  infinite  ; 
To  forgive  wrongs  darker  than  death  or  night ; 

To  defy  Power,  which  seems  omnipotent ; 
To  love,  and  bear;  to  hope  till  Hope  creates 
From  its  own  wreck  the  thing  it  contemplates; 

Neither  to  change,  nor  faulter,  nor  repent; 
This,  like  thy  glory,  Titan  !  is  to  be 
Good,  great  and  joyous,  beautiful  and  free  • 
This  is  alone  Life,  Joy,  Empire,  and  Victory! 


ROSALIND  AND  HELEN, 

A   MODERN   ECLOGUE. 

Rosalind,  Helen,  and  her  Child. 

Scene— The  Shore  of  the  Lake  o/Como. 

Helen.     Come  hither,  my  sweet  Rosalind. 
'Tis  long  since  thou  and  I  have  met : 
And  yet  methinks  it  were  unkind 
Those  moments  to  forgot. 
Come,  sit  by  me.    I  see  thee  stand 
By  this  lone  lake,  in  this  far  land, 
Thy  loose  hair  in  the  light  wind  flying, 
Thy  sweet  voice  to  each  tone  of  even 
Uuiud.  and  thine  eyes  replying 
To  the  hues  of  yon  fair  heaven. 
Come,  gentle  friend :  wilt  sit  by  me  1 
Ami  be  as  thou  wert  wont  to  be 
Ere  we  were  disunited  I 
None  doth  behold  us  now  :  the  power 
That  led  us  forth  at  this  lone  hour 
Will  be  but  ill  requited 
If  thou  depart  in  scorn  :  oh  !  come, 
And  talk  of  our  abandoned  home. 
Remember,  this  is  Italy, 
And  we  are  exiles.     Talk  with  me 
Of  that  our  land,  whose  wilds  and  floods 
Barren  and  dark  although  they  be, 
Were  dearer  than  these  chestnut  woods  : 
Those  heathy  paths,  that  inland  stream, 
And  the  blue  mountains,  shapes  which  seem 
Like  wrecks  of  childhood's  sunny  dream  : 
Which  that  we  have  abandoned  now, 
Weighs  on  the  heart  like  that  remorse 
Which  altered  friendship  leaves.     I  seek 
No  more  our  youthful  intercourse. 
That  cannot  be  !  Rosalind,  speak, 
Speak  to  me.     Leave  me  not. — When  morn  did  come, 
When  evening  fell  upon  our  common  home, 
When  for  one  hour  we  parted, —  do  not  frown: 
I  would  not  chide  thee,  though  thy  faith  is  broken : 
But  turn  to  me.     Oh  1  by  this  cherished  token, 


ROSALIND  AND  HELEN. 

Of  woven  hair,  which  thou  wilt  not  disown, 

Turn,  as  'twere  hut  the  memory  of  me, 

And  not  my  scorned  self  who  prayed  to  thee. 

Rosalind.   Is  it  a  dream,  or  do  I  see 
And  hear,  frail  Helen  1   I  would  flee 
Thy  tainting  touch  ;  but  former  years  ; 
Arise,  and  bring  forbidden  tears; 
And  my  o'erburthened  memory 
Seeks  yet  its  lost  repose  in  thee. 
I  share  thy  crime.      I  cannot  chose 
But  weep  for  thee  :  mine  own  strange  grief 
But  seldom  stoops  to  such  relief: 
Nor  ever  did  I  love  thee  less, 
Though  mourning  o'er  thy  wickedness 
Even  with  a  sister's  woe.     I  knew 
What  to  the  evil  world  is  due, 
And  therefore  sternly  did  refuse 
To  link  me  with  the  infamy 
Of  one  so  lost  as  Helen.     Now, 
Bewildered  by  my  dire  despair, 
Wondering   I  bluvh,  and  weep  that  thou 
Should'st  love  me  still, — thou  only  ! — There, 
Let  us  sit  on  that  grey  stone, 
Till  our  mournful  talk  be  done. 

Helen.  Alas  !  not  there  ;  I  cannot  bear 
The  murmur  of  this  lake  to  hear. 
A  sound  from  thee,  Rosalind  dear, 
Which  never  yet  I  heard  elsewhere 
But  in  our  native  land,  recurs, 
Even  here  where  now  we  meet.     It  stirs 
Too  much  of  suffocating  sorrow  ! 
In  the  dell  of  yon  dark  chestnut  wood 
Is  a  stone  seat,  a  solitude 
Less  like  our  own.     The  ghost  of  peace 
Will  not  desert  this  spot.     To-morrow, 
If  thy  kind  feeling  should  not  cease, 
We  may  sit  here. 

Rosalind.  Thou  lead,  my  sweet, 

And  I  will  follow. 

Henry.  'Tis  Finici's  seat 

Where  you  are  going.     This  is  not  the  way, 
Mamma  ;  it  leads  behind  those  trees  that  grow 
Close  to  the  little  river. 

Helen.  Yes — I  know — 

I  was  bewildered.     Kiss  me,  and  be  gay, 
Dear  boy,  why  do  you  sob  ? 


306  ROSALIND  AND  HELEN. 

Henry.  I  do  not  know  : 

But  it  might  break  any  one's  heart  to  see 
You  and  the  lady  cry  so  bitterly. 

Helen.  It  is  a  gentle  child,  my  friend.     Go  home, 
Henry,  and  play  with  Lilla  till  I  come. 
We  only  cried  with  joy  to  see  each  other, 
We  are  quite  merry  now — Good  night. 

The  boy 
Lifted  a  sudden  look  upon  his  mother, 
And  in  the  gleam  of  forced  and  hollow  joy 
Which  lightened  o'er  her  face,  laughed  with  the  glee 
Of  light  and  unsuspecting  infancy, 
And  whispered  in  her  ear,  "  Bring  home  with  you 
That  sweet  strange  lady-friend."     Then  olfhe  flew, 
But  stopt,  and  beckoned  with  a  meaning  smile, 
Where  the  road  turned.     Pale  Rosalind  the  while, 
Hiding  her  face,  stood  weeping  silently. 

In  silence  then  they  took  the  way 

Beneath  the  forest's  solitude, 

It  was  a  vast  and  antique  wood, 

Thro'  which  they  took  their  way  ; 

And  the  grey  shades  of  evening 

O'er  that  green  wilderness  did  fling 

Still  deeper  solitude. 

Pursuing  still  the  path  that  wound 

The  vast  and  knotted  trees  around 

Thro'  which  slow  shades  were  wandering, 

To  a  deep  lawny  dell  they  came, 

To  a  stone  seat  beside  a  spring, 

O'er  which  the  columned  wood  did  frame 

A  roofless  temple,  like  the  fane 

Where,  ere  new  creeds  could  faith  obtain, 

Man's  early  race  once  knelt  beneath 

The  overhanging  deity. 

O'er  this  fair  fountain  hung  the  sky, 

Now  spangled  with  rare  stars.     The  snake, 

The  p;de  snake,  that  with  eager  breath 

Creeps  here  his  noontide  thirst  to  slake, 

Is  beaming  with  many  a  mingled  hue, 

Shed  from  yon  dome's  eternal  blue, 

When  he  floats  on  that  dark  and  lucid  flood 

In  the  light  of  his  own  loveliness  ; 

And  the  birds  that  in  the  fountain  dip 

Their  plumes,  with  fearless  fellowship 

Above  and  round  him  wheel  and  hover. 

The  fitful  wind  is  heard  to  stir 

One  solitary  leaf  on  high  j 

The  chirping  of  the  grasshopper 


ROSALIND  AND  HELEN.  307 

Fills  every  pause.     There  is  emotion 

In  all  that  dwells  at  noontide  here : 

Then,  thro'  the  intricate  wild  wood, 

A  maze  of  life  and  light  and  motion 

Is  woven.     But  there  is  stillness  now; 

Gloom,  and  the  trance  of  Nature  now : 

The  snake  is  in  his  cave  asleep 

The  birds  are  on  the  branches  dreaming ; 

Only  the  shadows  creep  ; 

Only  the  glow-worm  is  gleaming  ; 

Only  the  owls  and  the  nightingales 

Wake  in  this  dell  when  day-light  fails, 

And  grey  shades  gather  in  the  woods ; 

And  the  owls  have  all  fled  far  away 

In  a  merrier  glen  to  hoot  and  play, 

For  the  moon  is  veiled  and  sleeping  now. 

The  accustomed  nightingale  still  broods 

On  her  accustomed  bough, 

But  she  is  mute  ;  for  her  false  mate 

Has  fled  and  left  her  desolate. 

This  silent  spot  tradition  old 

Had  peopled  with  the  spectral  dead. 

For  the  roots  of  the  speaker's  hair  felt  cold 

And  stiff,  as  with  tremulous  lips  he  told 

That  a  hellish  shape  at  midnight  led 

The  ghost  of  a  youth  with  hoary  hair, 

And  sate  on  the  seat  beside  him  there, 

Till  a  naked  child  came  wandering  by, 

When  the  fiend  would  change  to  a  lady  fair! 

A  fearful  tale  !     The  truth  was  worse 

For  here  a  sister  and  a  brother 

Had  solemnized  a  monstrous  curse, 

Meeting  in  this  fair  solitude  : 

For  beneath  yon  very  sky, 

Had  they  resigned  to  one  another 

Body  and  soul.     The  multitude, 

Tracking  them  to  the  secret  wood, 

Tore  limb  from  limb  their  innocent  child, 

And  stabbed  and  trampled  on  its  mother ; 

But  the  youth,  for  God's  most  holy  grace, 

A  priest  saved  to  burn  in  the  market-place. 

Duly  at  evening  Helen  came 
To  this  lone  silent  spot, 
From  the  wrecks  of  a  tale  of  wilder  sorrow 
So  much  of  sympathy  to  borrow. 
As  soothed  her  own  dark  lot. 
Duly  each  evening  from  her  home, 
With  her  fair  child  would  Helen  come 
To  sit  upon  that  antique  seat, 
27 


808  ROSALIND  AND  HELEN. 

While  the  hues  of  day  were  pale ; 
And  the  bright  boy  beside  her  feet 
Now  lay,  lifting  at  intervals 
His  broad  blue  eyes  on  her ; 
Now,  where  some  sudden  impulse  calli, 
Following.     He  was  a  gentle  boy  ; 
And  in  all  gentle  sports  took  joy ; 
Oft  in  a  dry  leaf  for  a  boat, 
With  a  small  feather  for  a  sail, 
His  fancy  on  that  spring  would  float, 
If  some  invisible  breeze  might  stir 
Its  marble  calm  :  and  Helen  smiled 
Thro'  tears  of  awe  on  the  gay  child, 
To  think  that  a  boy  as  fair  as  he, 
In  years  which  never  more  may  be, 
By  that  same  fount,  in  that  same  wood# 
The  like  sweet  fancies  had  pursued  ; 
And  that  a  mother,  lost  like  her, 
Had  mournfully  sate  watching  him. 
Then  all  the  scene  was  wont  to  swim 
Thro'  the  mist  of  a  burning  tear. 

For  many  months  had  Helen  known 

1  his  scene ;  and  now  she  thither  turned 

Her  footsteps  not  alone. 

The  friend,  whose  falsehood  she  had  mourned* 

Sate  with  her  on  that  seat  of  stone. 

Silent  they  sate  ;  for  evening 

And  the  power  its  glimpses  bring, 

Had,  with  one  awful  shadow,  quelled 

The  passion  of  their  grief.     They  sate 

With  linked  hands,  for,  unrepelled 

Had  Helen  taken  Rosalind's. 

Like  the  autumn  wind,  when  it  unbinds 

The  tangled  locks  of  the  nightshade's  hair, 

Which  is  twined  in  the  sultry  summer  air 

Round  the  walls  of  an  outworn  sepulchre, 

Did  the  voice  of  Helen,  sad  and  sweet, 

And  the  sound  of  her  heart  that  ever  beat, 

As  with  sighs  and  words  she  breathed  on  her, 

Unbind  the  knots  of  her  friend's  despair, 

Till  her  thoughts  were  free  to  float  and  flow  5 

And  from  her  labouring  bosom  now, 

Like  the  bursting  of  a  prisoned  flame, 

The  voice  of  a  long-pent  sorrow  came. 

Rosalind.  I  saw  the  dark  earth  fall  upon 
The  coffin  ; — and  I  saw  the  stone 
Laid  over  him  whom  this  cold  breast 
Had  pillowed  to  his  nightly  rest ! 
Thou  knowcst  not,  thou  can'st  not  know 


ROSALIND  AND  HELEN. 

My  agony.     Ohi  *fk  e>\i  not  weep : 

The  sources  whence  such  blessings  flow 

Were  not  to  be  apvn\»ched  by  me  ! 

But  I  could  smile,  avd  I  could  sleep, 

Though  with  a  self-accusing  heart, 

In  moi'-;iv  "  \ht.  *nd  evening's  gloom, 

I  watch.ee,  -%kO  wculd  not  thence  depart — 

My  husband  s  unlamented  tomb. 

My  children  knew  their  sire  was  gone, 

B itt  when  I  told  them, '  he  is  dead,' — 

TUev  toughed  aloud  in  frantic  glee 

They  clapped  their  hands  and  leaped  about 

Answering  each  other's  ecstasy 

With  many  a  prank  and  merry  shout ; 

But  I  sat  silent  and  alone, 

Wrapped  in  the  mock  of  mourning  weed. 

They  laughed,  for  he  was  dead  :  but  I 
Sate  with  a  hard  and  tearless  eye, 
And  with  a  heart  which  would  deny 
The  secret  joy  it  could  not  quell, 
Low  muttering  o'er  his  loathed  name; 
Till  from  that  self-contention  came 
Remorse  where  sin  was  none  ;  a  hell 
Which  in  pure  spirits  should  not  dwell. 

I'll  tell  thee  truth.     He  was  a  man 

Hard,  selfish,  loving  only  gold, 

Yet  full  of  guile:  his  pale  eyes  ran 

With  tears,  which  each  some  falsehood  told, 

And  oft  his  smooth  and  bridled  tongue 

Would  give  the  lie  to  his  flushing  cheek : 

He  was  a  coward  to  the  strong ; 

He  was  a  tyrant  to  the  weak, 

On  whom  his  vengeance  he  would  wreak : 

For  seem,  whose  arrows  search  the  heart, 

From  many  a  stranger's  eye  would  dart, 

And  on  his  memory  cling,  and  follow 

His  soul  to  it's  home  so  cold  and  hollow. 

He  was  a  tyrant  to  the  weak, 

And  we  were  such,  alas  the  day ! 

Oft,  when  my  little  ones  at  play, 

Were  in  youth's  natural  lightness  gay, 

Or  if  they  listened  to  some  tale 

Of  travellers,  or  of  fairy  land, — 

When  the  light  from  the  wood-fire's  dying  brand 

Flashed  on  their  faces, — if  they  heard 

Or  thought  they  heard  upon  the  stair 

His  footstep,  the  suspended  word 

Died  on  my  lips !  we  all  grew  pale ; 


310  ROSALIND  AND  HELEN. 

The  babe  at  my  bosom  was  hushed  with  fear 
If  it  thought  it  heard  its  father  near; 
And  my  two  wild  boys  would  near  my  knee 
Cling,  cowed,  and  cowering  fearfully. 

I'll  tell  thee  truth.     I  loved  another. 

His  name  in  my  ear  was  ever  ringing, 

His  form  to  my  brain  was  ever  clinging; 

Yet  if  some  stranger  breathed  that  name, 

My  lips  turned  white,  and  my  heart  beat  fast: 

My  nights  were  once  haunted  by  dreams  of  flame, 

My  days  were  dim  in  the  shadow  cast, 

By  the  memory  of  the  same! 

Day  and  night,  day  and  night, 

He  was  my  breath  and  life  and  light, 

For  three  short  years,  which  soon  were  past. 

On  the  fourth,  my  gentle  mother 

Led  me  to  the  shrine  to  be 

His  sworn  bride  eternally, 

And  now  we  stood  on  the  altar  stair, 

When  my  father  came  from  a  distant  land, 

And  with  a  loud  and  fearful  cry 

Rushed  between  us  suddenly. 

I  saw  the  stream  of  his  thin  grey  hair, 

I  saw  his  lean  and  lifted  hand, 

And  heard  his  words, — and  live  !  O  God ! 

Wherefore  do  I  live  V — '  Hold,  hold !' 

He  cried. — 'I  tell  thee  'tis  her  brother! 

Thy  mother,  boy,  beneath  the  sod 

Of  yon  church-yard  rests  in  her  shroud  so  cold: 

I  am  now  weak,  and  pale,  and  old : 

We  were  once  dear  to  one  another, 

I  and  that  corpse  !     Thou  art  our  child!' 

Then  with  a  laugh  both  long  and  wild 

The  youth  upon  the  pavement  fell: 

They  found  him  dead  !  All  looked  on  me, 

The  spasms  of  my  despair  to  see  ; 

But  I  was  calm.     I  went  away  ; 

I  was  clammy-cold  like  clay ! 

I  did  not  weep — I  did  not  speak; 

But  day  by  day,  week  after  week, 

I  walked  about  like  a  corpse  alive! 

Alas,  sweet  friend,  you  must  believe 

This  heart  is  stone  ;  it  did  not  brea1.. 

My  father  lived  a  little  while, 

But  all  might  see  that  he  was  dyiner, 

He  smiled  with  such  a  wofi.il  smile  ! 

When  he  was  in  the  church-yard  lying 

Among  the  worms,  we  grew  quite  poor, 

So  that  no  one  would  give  us  bread; 

My  mother  looked  at  me,  and  said 


ROSALIND  AND  HELEN.  311 

Faint  words  of  cheer,  which  only  meant 

That  she  cou'd  die  and  be  content ; 

So  I  went  forth  from  the  same  church  door 

To  another  husband's  bed. 

And  this  was  he  who  died  at  last, 

When  weeks,  and  months,  and  years  had  past, 

Through  which  I  firmly  did  fulfil 

My  duties,  a  devoted  wife, 

With  the  stern  step  of  vanquished  will, 

Walking  beneath  the  night  of  life, 

Whose  hours  extinguished,  like  slow  rain 

Falling  for  ever,  pain  by  pain 

The  very  hope  of  death's  dear  rest : 

Which,  since  the  heart  within  my  breast 

Of  natural  life  was  dispossest, 

Its  strange  sustainer  there  had  been. 

When  flowers  were  dead,  and  grass  was  green 
Upon  my  mother's  grave, — that  mother 
Whom  to  outlive,  and  cheer,  and  make 
My  wan  eyes  glitter  for  her  sake, 
Was  my  vowed  task,  the  single  care 
Which  once  gave  life  to  my  despair, — 
When  she  was  a  thing  that  did  not  stir, 
And  the  crawling  worms  were  cradling  her 
To  a  sleep  more  deep,  and  so  more  sweet 
Than  a  baby's  rocked  on  its  nurse's  knee, 
I  lived  ;  a  living  pulse  then  beat 
Beneath  my  heart  that  awakened  me. 
What  was  this  pulse  so  warm  and  free  ? 
Alas  !  I  knew  it  could  not  be 
My  own  dull  blood :  'twas  like  a  thought 
Of  liquid  love,  that  spread  and  wrought 
Under  my  bosom  and  in  my  brain, 
And  crept  with  the  blood  through  every  vein; 
And  hour  by  hour,  day  after  day, 
The  wonder  could  not  charm  away, 
But  laid  in  sleep,  my  wakeful  pain, 
Until  I  knew  it  was  a  child, 
And  the  a  I  wept.     For  long  long  years 
These  frozen  eyes  had  shed  no  tears  : 
But  now — 'twas  the  season  fair  and  mild 
When  April  has  wept  itself  to  May : 
I  sate  through  the  sweet  sunny  day 
By  my  window  bowered  round  with  leaves, 
And  down  my  checks  the  quick  tears  ran 
Like  twinkling  rain-drops  from  the  eaves, 
When  warm  spring  showers  are  passing  o'er, 
O  Helen,  none  can  ever  tell 
The  joy  it  was  to  weep  once  more  ! 
27* 


312  ROSALIND  AND  HELEN. 

I  wept  to  think  how  hard  it  were 

To  kill  my  babe,  and  take  from  it 

The  sense  of  light,  and  the  warm  air, 

And  my  own  fond  and  tender  care, 

And  love,  and  smiles ;  ere  I  knew  yet 

That  these  for  it  might,  as  for  me, 

Be  the  masks  of  a  grinning  mockery. 

And  haply,  1  would  dream,  'twere  sweet 

To  feed  it  from  my  faded  breast, 

Or  mark  my  own  heart's  restless  beat 

Rock  it  to  its  untroubled  rest  ; 

And  watch  the  growing  soul  beneath 

Dawn  in  faint  smiles  ;  and  hear  its  breath 

Half  interrupted  by  calm  sighs, 

And  search  the  depth  of  its  fair  eyes 

For  long  departed  memories! 

And  so  I  lived  till  that  sweet  load 

Was  lightened.     Darkly  forward  flowed 

The  stream  of  years,  and  on  it  bore 

Two  shapes  of  gladness  to  my  sight ; 

Two  other  babes,  delightful  more 

In  my  lost  soul's  abandoned  night, 

Than  their  own  country  ships  may  be 

Sailing  towards  wrecked  manners, 

Who  cling  to  the  rock  of  a  wintry  sea. 

For  each,  as  it  came,  brought  soothing  tears, 

And  a  loosening  warmth,  as  each  one  lay, 

Sucking  the  sullen  milk  away, 

About  my  frozen  heart,  did  play, 

And  weaned  it,  oh  how  painfully! 

As  they  themselves  were  weaned  each  one 

From  that  sweet  food, — even  from  the  thir6t 

Of  death,  and  nothingness,  and  rest, 

Strange  inmate  of  a  living  breast! 

Which  all  that  I  had  undergone 

Of  grief  and  shame,  since  she,  who  first 

The  gates  of  that  dark  refuge  closed, 

Came  to  my  sight,  and  almost  burst 

The  seal  of  that  Lethean  spring ; 

But  these  fair  shadows  interposed: 

For  all  delights  are  shadows  now ! 

And  from  my  brain  to  my  dull  brow 

The  heavy  tears  gather  and  flow : 

I  cannot  speak ;  Oh  let  me  weep ! 

The  tears  which  fell  from  her  wan  eyes 
Glimmered  among  the  moonlight  dew  I 
Her  deep  hard  sobs,  and  heavy  sighs, 
Their  echoes  in  the  darkness  threw. 


ROSALIND  AND  HELEN.  313 


When  she  grew  calm,  she  thus  did  keep 
The  tenor  of  her  tale  : 

He  died: 
I  know  not  how.  He  was  not,  old 
If  age  be  numbered  by  its  years: 
But  he  was  bowed  and  bent  with  fears, 
Pale  with  the  quenchless  thirst  of  gold, 
Which,  like  fierce  fever  left  him  weak; 
And  his  strait  lip  and  bloated  cheek 
Were  warped  in  spasms  by  hollow  sneers 
And  selfish  cares  with  barren  plough, 
Not  age,  had  lined  his  narrow  brow, 
And  foul  and  cruel  thoughts,  which  feed 
Upon  the  withering  life  within, 
Like  vipers  on  some  poisonous  weed. 
Whether  his  ill  were  death  or  sin 
None  knew,  until  he  died  indeed, 
And  then  men  owned  they  were  the  same. 

Seven  days  within  my  chamber  lay 
That  corse,  and  my  babes  made  holiday; 
At  last,  I  told 'them  what  is  death ; 
The  eldest,  with  a  kind  of  shame. 
Came  to  my  knees,  with  silent  breath, 
And  sate  awe-stricken  at  my  feet ; 
And  soon  the  others  left  their  play, 
And  sate  there  too.     It  is  unmeet 
To  shed  on  the  brief  flower  of  youth 
The  withering  knowledge  of  the  grave; 
From  me  remorse  then  wrung  that  truth. 
I  could  not  bear  the  joy  which  gave 
Too  just  a  response  to  mine  own. 
In  vain.     I  dared  not  feign  a  groan ; 
And  in  their  artless  looks  I  saw, 
Between  the  mists  of  fear  and  awe, 
That  my  own  thought  was  theirs :  and  they 
Expressed  it  not  in  words,  but  said, 
Each  in  its  heart,  how  every  day 
Will  pass  in  happy  work  and  play, 
Now  he  is  dead  and  gone  away. 

After  the  funeral  all  our  kin 

Assembled,  and  the  will  was  read. 

My  friend,  I  tell  thee,  even  the  dead 

Have  strength,  their  putrid  shrouds  within, 

To  blast  and  torture.     Those  who  live 

Still  fear  the  living,  but  a  corse 

Is  merciless,  and  power  doth  give 

To  such  pale  tyrants  half  the  spoil 

He  rends  from  those  who  groan  and  toil, 


314  ROSALIND  AND  HELEN. 

Because  they  blush  not  with  remorse 

Among  their  crawling  worms.      Behold, 

I  have  no  child !  my  tale  grows  old 

With  grief,  and  staggers:  let  it  reach 

The  limits  of  my  feeble  speech, 

And  languidly  at  length  recline 

On  the  brink  of  its  own  grave  and  mine. 

Tl.ou  knowest  what  a  thing  is  Poverty 

Among  the  fallen  on  evil  days; 

Tis  Crime,  and  Fear,  and  Infamy, 

And  houseless  Want  in  frozen  ways 

Wandering  ungarmented,  and  Pain, 

And,  worse  than  all,  that  inward  stan 

Foul  Self-contempt,  which  drowns  in  sneers 

Youth's  star-light  smile,  and  makes  it,  tears 

First  like  hot  gall,  then  dry  for  ever! 

And  well  thou  knowest  a  mother  never 

Could  doom  her  children  to  this  ill, 

And  well  he  knew  the  same.     The  will 

Imported,  that  if  e'er  again 

I  sought  my  children  to  behold, 

Or  in  my  birth-place  did  remain 

Beyond  three  days,  whose  hours  were  told, 

They  should  inherit  nought;  and  he, 

To  whom  next  came  their  patrimony, 

A  sallow  lawyer,  cruel  and  cold, 

Aye  watched  me,  as  the  will  was  read, 

With  eyes  askance,  which  sought  to  see 

The  secrets  of  my  agony  j 

And  with  close  lips  and  anxious  brow 

Stood  canvasing  still  to  an  fro 

The  chance  of  my  resolve,  and  all 

The  dead  man  s  caution  just  did  call : 

For  in  that  killing  lie  'twas  said — 

"  She  is  adulterous,  and  doth  hold 

In  secret  that  the  Christian  creed 

Is  false,  and  therefore  is  much  need 

That  I  should  have  a  care  to  save 

My  children  from  eternal  fire." 

Friend,  he  was  sheltered  by  the  grave, 

And  therefore  dared  to  be  a  liar! 

In  truth,  the  Indian  on  the  pyre 

Of  her  dead  husband,  half  consumed, 

As  well  might  there  be  false,  as  I 

To  those  abhorred  embraces  doomed, 

Far  worse  than  fire's  brief  agony. 

As  to  the  Christian  creed,  if  true 

Or  false,  I  never  questioned  it ; 

I  took  it  as  the  vulgar  do  : 


ROSALIND  AND  HELEN.  315 


Nor  my  vext  soul  had  leisure  yet 

To  doubt  the  things  men  say,  or  deem 

That  they  are  other  than  they  seem. 

All  present  who  those  crimes  did  heat', 

In  feigned  or  actual  scorn  and  fear, 

Men,  vvjinen,  children,  slunk  away, 

Whispering  with  self-contented  pride, 

Which  half  suspects  its  own  base  lie. 

I  spoke  to  none,  nor  did  abide, 

But  silently  I  went  my  way. 

Nor  noticed  I,  where  joyously 

Sate  my  two  younger  babes  at  play, 

In  the  court-yard  through  which  I  past; 

But  went  with  footsteps  firm  and  fast 

Till  I  came  to  the  brink  of  the  ocean  green, 

And  there,  a  woman  with  grey  hairs, 

Who  had  my  mother's  servant  been, 

Kneeling,  with  many  tears  and  prayers, 

Made  me  accept  a  purse  of  gold, 

Half  of  the  earnings  she  had  kept 

To  refuge  her  when  weak  and  old. 

With  woe,  which  never  sleeps  or  slept. 

I  wander  now.     'Tis  a  vain  thought 

But  on  yon  alp,  whose  snowy  head 

'Mid  the  azure  air  is  islanded, 

(We  see  it  o'er  the  flood  of  cloud, 

Which  sunrise  from  its  eastern  caves 

Drives,  wrinkling  into  golden  waves, 

Hung  with  its  precipices  proud, 

From  that  grey  stone  where  first  we  met) 

There,  now  who  knows  the  dead  feel  nought? 

Should  be  my  grave  ;  for  he  who  yet 

Is  my  soul's  soul,  once  said  :  "  Twist*  sweet 

'Mid  stars  and  lightnings  to  abide, 

And  winds  and  lulling  snows,  that  beat 

With  their  soft  flakes  the  mountain  wide, 

When  weary  meteor  lamps  repose, 

And  languid  storms  their  pinions  close: 

And  all  things  strong  and  bright  and  pure, 

And  ever-during,  aye  endure : 

Who  knows,  if  one  were  buried  there, 

But  the  e  things  might  our  spirits  make, 

Amid  the  all-surrounding  air, 

Their  own  eternity  partake  ?" 

Then  'twas  a  wild  and  playful  saying 

At  which  I  laughed,  or  seemed  to  laugh  ; 

They  were  his  words  :  now  heed  my  praying, 

And  let  them  be  my  epitaph. 


316  ROSALIND  AND  HELEN. 

Thy  memory  for  a  term  may  be 
My  monument.     Wilt  remember  me  ? 
I  know  thou  wilt,  and  canst  forgive 
Whilst  in  this  erring  world  to  live 
My  soul  disdained  not,  that  I  thought 
Its  lying  forms  were  worthy  aught, 
And  much  less  thee. 

Helen.  Oh  speak  not  so, 

But  come  to  me  and  pour  thy  woe 
Into  this  heart,  full  though  it  be, 
Aye  overflowing  with  its  own : 
I  thought  that  grief  had  severed  me 
From  all  beside  who  weep  and  groan ; 
Its  likeness  upon  earth  to  be, 
Its  express  image  ;  but  thou  art 
More  wretched.     Sweet  1  we  will  not  part 
Henceforth,  if  death  be  not  division  ; 
If  so,  the  dead  feel  no  contrition. 
But  wilt  thou  hear,  since  last  we  parted 
All  that  has  left  me  broken-hearted  ? 

Ros.  Yes,  speak.  The  faintest  stars  are  scarcely  shorn 
Of  their  thin  beams,  by  that  delusive  morn 
Which  sinks  again  in  darkness,  like  the  light 
Of  early  love,  soon  lost  in  total  night. 

Helen.  Alas  !  Italian  winds  are  mild, 
But  my  bosom  is  cold —  wintry  cold — 
When  the  warm  air  weaves,  among  the  fresh  leaves 
Soft  music,  my  poor  brain  is  wild, 
And  I  am  weak  like  a  nursling  child, 
Though  my  soul  with  grief  is  grey  and  old. 

Ros.  Weep  not  at  thine  own  words,  tho*  they  must  make 
Me  weep.     What  is  thy  tale  1 

Helen.  I  fear  'twill  shake 

Thy  gentle  heart  with  tears.     Thou  well 
Rememberest  when  we  met  no  more 
And,  though  I  dwelt  with  Lionel, 
That  friendless  caution  pierced  me  sore 
With  grief;  a  wound  my  spirit  bore 
Indignantly,  but  when  he  died, 
With  hint  lay  dead  both  hope  and  pride. 

Alas  !  all  hope  is  buried  now. 
But  then  men  dreamed  the  aged  earth 
Was  labouring  in  that  mighty  birth, 
Which  many  a  poet  and  a  sage 
Has  aye  foreseen — the  happy  age 
When  truth  and  love  shall  dwell  below 


ROSALIND  AND  HELEN.  317 

Among  the  works  and  ways  of  men ; 
Which  on  this  world  not  power,  but  will, 
Even  now  is  wanting  to  fulfil. 

Among  mankind  what  thence  befell 

Of  strife,  how  vain,  is  known  too  well ; 

When  liberty's  dear  paean  fell 

'Mid  murderous  howls.     To  Lionel, 

Though  of  great  wealth  and  lineage  high, 

Yet  through  those  dungeon  walls  there  came 

Thy  thrilling  light,  O  liberty  ! 

And  as  the  meteor's  midnght  flame 

Startles  the  dreamer,  sun-like  truth 

Flashed  on  his  visionary  youth, 

And  filled  him,  not  with  love,  but  faith, 

And  hope,  and  courage  mute  in  death ; 

For  love  and  life  in  him  were  twins, 

Born  at  one  birth  :  in  every  other 

First  life,  then  love  its  course  begins, 

Though  they  be  children  of  one  mother  ; 

And  so  through  this  dark  world  they  fleet 

Divided,  till  in  death  they  meet : 

But  he  loved  all  things  ever.     Then 

He  past  amid  the  strife  of  men, 

And  stood  at  the  throne  of  armed  power 

Pleading  for  a  world  of  .voe  : 

Secure  as  one  on  a  rock-built  tower 

O'er  the  wrecks  which  the  surge  trails  to  and  fro, 

'Mid  the  passions  wild  of  human  kind 

He  stood,  like  a  spirit  calming  them  ; 

For,  it  was  said,  his  words  could  bind 

Like  music  the  lulled  crowd,  and  stem 

That  torrent  of  unquiet  dream 

Which  mortals  truth  and  reason  deem, 

But  is  revenge  and  fear  and  pride. 

Joyous  he  was  ;  and  hope  and  peace 

On  all  who  heard  him  did  abide, 

Raining  like  dew  from  his  sweet  talk, 

As  wkere  the  evening  star  may  walk 

Along  the  brink  of  the  gloomy  seas, 

Liquid  mists  of  splendour  quiver. 

His  very  gestures  touched  to  tears 

The  unpersuaded  tyrant,  never 

So  moved  before  :  his  presence  stung 

The  torturers  with  their  victims'  pain, 

And  none  knew  how  ;  and  through  their  ears, 

The  subtle  witchcraft  of  his  tongue 

Unlocked  the  hearts  of  those  who  keep 

Gold,  the  world's  bond  of  slavery. 

Men  wondered,  and  some  sneered  to  see 


318  ROSALIND  AND  HELEN. 

One  sow  what  he  could  never  reap  : 

For  he  is  rich,  they  said,  and  young, 

And  might  drink  from  the  depths  of  luxury. 

If  he  seeks  fame,  fame  never  crowned 

The  champion  of  a  trampled  creed  : 

If  he  seeks  power,  power  is  enthroned 

'Mid  ancient  rights  and  wrongs,  to  feed 

Which  hungry  wolves  with  praise  and  spoil, 

Those  who  would  sit  near  power  must  toii ; 

And  such,  there  sitting,  all  may  see. 

What  seeks  he  ?  All  that  others  seek 

He  casts  away,  like  a  vile  weed 

Which  the  sea  casts  unreturningly. 

That  poor  and  hungry  men  should  break 

The  laws  which  wreak  them  toil  and  scorn, 

We  understand  ;  but  Lionel 

We  know  is  rich  and  nobly  born. 

So  wondered  they ;  yet  all  men  loved 

Young  Lionel,  though  few  approved  ; 

All  but  the  priests,  whose  hatred  fell 

Like  the  unseen  blight  of  a  smiling  day, 

The  withering  honey-dew,  which  clings 

Under  the  bright  green  buds  of  May, 

Whilst  they  unfold  their  emerald  wings  : 

For  he  made  verses  wild  and  queer 

On  the  strange  creeds  priests  hold  so  dear, 

Because  they  bring  them  land  and  gold. 

Of  devils  and  saints,  and  all  such  gear, 

He  made  tales  which  whoso  heard  or  read 

Would  laugh  till  he  were  almost  dead. 

So  this  grew  a  proverb  :  "  don't  get  old 

Till  Lionel's  banquet  in  hell !  you  hear, 

And  then  you  will  laugh  yourself  young  a#aiu.n 

So  the  priests  hated  him,  and  he 

Repaid  their  hate  with  cheerful  glee. 

Ah,  smiles  and  joyance  quickly  died, 

For  public  hope  grew  pale  and  dim 

In  an  altered  time  and  tide, 

And  in  its  wasting  withered  him, 

As  a  summer  flower  that  blows  too  soon 

Droops  in  the  smile  of  the  waning  moon, 

When  it  scatters  through  an  April  night 

The  frozen  dews  of  wrinkling  blight. 

None  now  hoped  more.     Grey  Power  was  seated 

Safely  on  her  ancestral  throne  ; 

And  Faith,  the  Python,  undefeated, 

Even  to  its  blood-stained  steps  dragged  on 

Her  foul  and  wounded  train,  and  men 

Were  trampled  and  deceived  again, 

And  words  and  shows  again  could  bind 


ROSALIND  AND  HELEN.  319 

The  wailing  tribes  of  human  kind 
In  scorn  and  famine.       Fire  and  blood 
Raged  round  the  raging  multitude, 
To  fields  remote  by  tyrants  sent 
To  be  the  scorned  instrument, 
With  which  they  drag  from  mines  of  gore 
The  chains  their  slaves  yet  ever  wore  ; 
And  in  the  streets  men  met  each  other, 
And  by  old  altars  and  in  halls, 
And  smiled  again  at  festivals. 
But  each  man  found  in  his  heart's  brother 
Cold  cheer  ;  for  all,  though  half  deceived, 
The  outworn  creeds  again  believed, 
And  the  same  round  anew  began, 
Which  the  weary  world  yet  ever  ran. 
Many  then  wept,  not  tears,  but  gall, 
Within  their  hearts,  like  drops  which  fall 
Wasting  the  fountain-stone  away. 
And  in  that  dark  and  evil  day 
Did  all  desires  and  thoughts,  that  claim 
Men's  care — ambition,  friendship,  fame, 
Love,  hope,  though  hope  was  now  despair- 
Indue  the  colours  of  this  change, 
As  from  the  all-surrounding  air 
The  earth  takes  hues  obscure  and  strange, 
When  storm  and  earthquake  linger  there. 

And  so,  my  friend,  it  then  befell 
To  many,  most  to  Lionel, 
Whose  hope  was  like  the  life  of  youth 
Within  him,  and,  when  dead,  became 
A  spirit  of  unresting  flame, 
Which  goaded  him  in  his  distress 
Over  the  world's  vast  wilderness. 
Three  years  he  left  his  native  land, 
And  on  the  fourth,  when  he  returned 
None  knew  him  :  he  was  stricken  deep 
With  some  disease  of  mind,  and  turned 
Into  aught  unlike  Lionel. 
On  him — on  whom,  did  he  pause  in  sleep, 
Serenest  smiles  were  wont  to  keep, 
And,  did  he  wake,  a  winged  band 
Of  bright  persuasions,  which  had  fed 
On  his  sweet  lips  and  liquid  eyes, 
Kept  their  swift  pinions  half  outspread, 
To  do  on  men  his  least  command — 
On  him,  whom  once  t'was  paradise 
Even  to  behold,  now  misery  lay  : 
In  his  own  heart  t'was  merciless, 
To  all  things  else  none  may  express 


320  ROSALIND  AND  HELEN. 

Its  innocence  and  tenderness. 

'Twas  said  that  he  had  refuge  sought 

In  love  from  his  unquiet  thought 

In  distant  lands,  and  been  deceived 

By  some  strange  show  :  for  there  were  found, 

Blotted  with  tears  as  those  relieved 

By  their  own  words  are  wont  to  do, 

These  mournful  verses  on  ttoe  ground, 

By  all  who  read  them  blotted  too. 

"  How  am  I  changed  !  my  hopes  were  once  like  firew 

I  loved,  and  1  believed  that  life  was  love. 

How  am  I  lost !  on  wings  of  swift  desire 

Among  Heaven's  winds  my  spirit  once  did  move. 

I  slept,  and  silver  dreams  did  aye  inspire 

My  liquid  sleep.    I  woke,  and  did  approve 

All  nature  to  my  heart,  and  thought  to  make 

A  paradise  of  earth  for  one  sweet  sake. 

"  I  love  but  I  believe  in  love  no  more. 
I  feel  desire,  but  hope  not.     Oh,  from  sleep 
Most  vainly  must  my  weary  brain  implore 
Its  long  lost  flattery  now.    I  wake  to  weep, 
And  sit  through  the  long  day  gnawing  the  core 
Of  my  bitter  heart,  and,  like  a  miser,  keep, 
Since  none  in  what  I  feel  take  pain  or  pleasure 
To  my  own  soul  its  self-consuming  treasure." 

He  dwelt  beside  me  near  the  sea ; 

And  oft  in  evening  did  we  meet, 

When  the  waves,  beneath  the  star-light,  flee 

O'er  the  yellow  sands  with  silver  feet, 

And  talked.    Our  talk  was  sad  and  sweet, 

Till  slowly  from  his  mien  there  passed 

The  desolation  which  it  spoke  ; 

And  smiles, — as  when  the  lightning's  blast 

Has  parched  some  heaven-delighting  oak, 

The  next  spring  shews  leaves  pale  and  rare, 

But  like  flowers  delicate  and  fair, 

On  its  rent  boughs —  again  arrayed 

His  countenance  in  tender  light: 

His  words  grew  subtle  fire,  winch  made 

The  air  his  hearers  breathed  delight  : 

His  motions,  like  the  winds,  were  free, 

Which  bend  the  bright  grass  gracefully, 

Then  fade  away  in  circlets  faint : 

And  winged  hope,  on  which  upborne 

His  soul  seemed  hovering  in  his  eyes, 

Like  some  blight  spirit  newly  born 

Floating  amid  the  sunny  skies, 

Sprang  forth  from  his  rent  heart  anew, 


ROSALIND  AND  HELEN.  321 

Ypt  o'er  his  talk,  and  looks,  and  mien, 

Tempering  their  loveliness  too  keen, 

Past  woe  its  shadow  backward  threw, 

Till  like  an  exhalation,  spread 

From  flowers  half  drunk  with  evening  dew, 

They  did  become  infectious  :  sweet 

And  subtle  mists  of  sense  and  thought 

Which  rapt  us  soon,  when  we  might  meet, 

Almost  from  our  own  looks,  and  aught, 

The  wide  world  holds.     And  so,  bis  mind 

Was  healed,  while  mine  grew  sick  with  fenr: 

For  ever  now  his  health  declined, 

Like  some  frail  bark  which  cannot  bear 

The  impulse  of  an  altered  wind, 

Though  prosperous  :  and  my  heart  grew  full 

'Mid  its  new  joy  of  a  new  care  : 

For  his  cheek  became,  not  pale,  but  fair, 

As  rose  o'er  shadowed  lilies  are  ; 

And  soon  his  deep  and  sunny  hair, 

In  this  alone  less  beautiful, 

Like  grass  in  tombs  grew  wild  and  rare. 

The  blood  in  his  translucent  veins 

Beat,  not  like  animal  life,  but  love 

Seemed  now  its  sullen  springs  to  move, 

When  life  had  failed,  and  all  its  pains ; 

And  sudden  sleep  would  seize  him  oft 

Like  death,  so  calm,  but  that  a  tear, 

His  pointed  eye-lashes  between, 

Would  gather  in  the  light  serene 

Of  smiles,  whose  lustre  bright  and  soft 

Beneath  lay  undulating  there. 

His  breath  was  like  inconstant  flame, 

As  eagerly  it  went  and  came; 

And  I  hung  o'er  him  in  his  sleep, 

Till  like  an  image  in  the  lake 

Which  rains  disturb,  my  tears  would  break 

The  shadow  of  that  slumber  deep  ; 

Then  he  would  bid  me  not  to  weep, 

And  say  with  flattery  false,  yet  sweet, 

That  death  and  be  could  never  meet,  .;. 

If  I  would  never  part  with  him. 

And  so  we  loved,  and  did  unite 

All  that  in  us  was  yet  divided  : 

For  when  he  said,  that  many  a  rite, 

By  men  to  bind  but  once  provided, 

Could  not  be  shared  by  him  and  me, 

Or  they  would  kill  him  in  their  glee, 

I  shuddered,  and  then  laughing  said — 

"  We  will  have  rights  our  faith  to  bind, 

But  our  church  shall  be  the  starry  night, 


322  ROSALIND  AND  HELEN 

Our  altar  the  grassy  earth  outspread, 
And  our  priest  the  muttering  wind.  " 

'Twas  sunset  as  I  spoke  :  one  star 

Had  scarce  burst  forth,  when  from  afar 

The  ministers  of  misrule  sent, 

Seized  upon  Lionel,  and  bore 

His  chained  limbs  to  a  dreary  tower, 

In  the  midst  of  a  city  vast  and  wide. 

For  he,  they  said,  from  his  mind  had  bent 

Against  their  gods  keen  blasphemy, 

For  which,  though  his  soul  must  roasted  be 

In  hell's  red  lakes  immortally, 

Yet  even  on  earth  must  he  abide 

The  vengeance  of  their  slaves — a  trial, 

I  think,  men  call  it.     What  avail 

Are  prayers  and  tears,  which  chase  denial 

From  the  fierce  savage,  nursed  in  hate  f 

What  the  knit  soul,  that  pleading  and  pale 

Makes  wan  the  quivering  cheek,  which  late 

It  painted  with  its  own  delight? 

We  were  divided.     As  I  could, 

I  stilled  the  tingling  of  my  blood, 

And  followed  him  in  their  despite, 

As  a  widow  follows,  pale  and  wild, 

The  murderers  and  corse  of  her  only  child; 

And  when  we  came  to  the  prison  door, 

And  I  prayed  to  share  his  dungeon  floor 

With  prayers  which  rarely  have  been  spurned, 

And  when  men  drove  me  forth,  and  J 

Stared  with  blank  frenzy  on  the  sky, 

A  farewell  look  of  love  he  turned, 

Half  calming  me  ;  then  gazed  awhile, 

As  if  through  that  black  and  massy  pile, 

And  through  the  crowd  around  him  there, 

And  through  the  dense  and  murky  air, 

And  the  thronged  streets,  he  did  espy 

What  poets  knew  and  prophecy  : 

And  said,  with  voice  that  made  them  shiver, 

And  clung  like  music  in  my  brain, 

And  which  the  mute  walls  spoke  again 

Prolonging  it  with  deepened  strain — 

"  Fear  not,  the  tyrants  shall  rule  for  ever, 

Or  the  priests  of  the  bloody  faith  ; 

They  stand  on  the  brink  of  that  mighty  river, 

Whose  waves  they  have  tainted  with  death  : 

It  is  fed  from  the  depths  of  a  thousand  dells, 

Around  them  it  foams,  and  rages,  and  swells, 

And  their  swords  and  their  sceptres  I  floating  see 

Like  wrecks  in  the  surge  of  eternity." 


ROSALIND  AND  HELEN. 

I  dwelt  besides  the  prison  gate, 

And  the  strange  crowd  that  out  and  in 

Passed,  some,  no  doubt,  with  mine  own  fate, 

Might  have  fretted  me  with  its  ceaseless  din, 

But  the  fever  of  care  was  louder  within. 

Soon,  but  too  late,  in  penitence 

Or  fear,  his  foes  released  him  thence  : 

[  saw  his  thin  and  languid  form, 

As  leaning  on  the  jailer's  arm, 

Whose  hardened  eyes  grew  moist  the  while, 

To  meet  his  mute  and  faded  smile, 

And  hear  his  words  of  kind  farewell, 

He  tottered  forth  from  his  damp  cell. 

Many  had  never  wept  before, 

From  whom  fast  tears  then  gushed  and  fell ; 

Many  will  relent  no  more, 

Who  sobbed  like  infants  then ;  aye,  all 

Who  thronged  the  prison's  stony  hall, 

The  rulers  or  the  slaves  of  law, 

Felt  with  a  new  surprise  and  awe 

That  they  were  human,  till  strong  shame 

Made  them  again  become  the  same. 

The  prison  blood-hounds,  huge  and  grim, 

From  human  looks  the  infection  caught, 

And  fondly  crouched  and  fawned  on  him  j 

And  men  have  heard  the  prisoners  say, 

Who  in  their  rotting  dungeons  lay, 

That  from  that  hour,  throughout  one  day, 

The  fierce  despair  and  hate,  which  kept 

Their  trampled  bosoms  almost  slept 

When,  like  twin  vultures,  they  hung  feeding 

On  each  heart's  wound,  wide  torn  and  bleeding, 

Because  their  jailer's  rule,  they  thought, 

Grew  merciful,  like  a  parent's  sway. 

I  know  not  how,  but  we  were  free, 

And  Lionel  sate  alone  with  me, 

As  the  carriage  drove  through  the  streets  apace 

And  we  looked  upon  each  other's  face 

And  the  blood  in  our  fingers  intertwined 

Ran  like  the  thoughts  of  a  single  mind, 

As  the  swift  emotions  went  and  came 

Through  the  veins  of  each  united  frame. 

So  through  the  long  long  streets  we  past 

Of  the  million-peopled  City  vast; 

Which  is  that  desert,  where  each  one 

Seeks  his  mate,  yet  is  alone, 

Beloved  and  sought  and  mourned  of  none : 

Until  the  clear  blue  sky  was  seen, 

And  the  grassy  meadows  bright  and  green 

And  then  I  sunk  in  his  embrace, 


12"6 


324  ROSALIND  AND  HELEN. 

Enclosing  there  a  mighty  space 

Of  love  :  and  so  we  travelled  on 

By  woods,  and  fields  of  yellow  flowers 

And  towns,  and  villages,  and  towers, 

Day  after  day  of  happy  hours. 

It  was  the  azure  time  of  June, 

When  the  skies  are  deep  in  the  stainless  noon. 

And  the  warm  and  fitful  breezes  shake 

The  fresh  green  leaves  of  the  hedge-row  briar, 

And  there  were  odours  then  to  make 

The  very  breath  we  did  respire 

A  liquid  element,  whereon 

Our  spirits,  like  delighted  things 

That  walk  the  air  on  subtle  wings, 

Floated  and  mingled  far  away, 

'Mid  the  warm  winds  of  the  sunny  day. 

And  when  the  evening  star  came  forth 

Above  the  curve  of  the  new  bent  moon, 

And  light  and  sound  ebbed  from  the  earth, 

Like  the  tide  of  the  full  and  weary  sea 

To  the  depths  of  its  own  tranquillity, 

Our  natures  to  its  own  repose 

Did  the  earth's  breathless  sleep  attune: 

Like  flowers,  which  on  each  other  close 

Their  languid  leaves  when  day-light's  gone, 

We  lay,  till  new  emotions  came, 

Which  seemed  to  make  each  mortal  frame 

One  soul  of  interwoven  flame, 

A  life  in  life,  a  second  birth- 

In  worlds  diviner  far  than  earth, 

Which,  like  two  strains  of  harmony 

That  mingle  in  the  silent  sky, 

Then  slowly  disunite,  past  by 

And  left  the  tenderness  of  tears, 

A  soft  oblivion  of  all  fears, 

A  sweet  sleep  :  so  we  travelled  on 

Till  we  came  to  the  home  of  Lionel, 

Among  the  mountains  wild  and  lone, 

Beside  the  hoary  western  sea, 

Which  near  the  verge  of  the  echoing  shore 

The  massy  forest  shadowed  o'er. 

The  ancient  steward,  with  hair  all  hoar, 
As  we  alighted,  wept  to  see 
His  master  changed  so  fearfully ; 
And  the  old  man's  sobs  did  waken  me 
From  my  dream  of  unremaining  gladness; 
The  truth  flashed  o'er  me  like  quick  madness 
When  I  looked,  and  saw  that  there  was  death 
On  Lionel :  yet  day  by  day 


ROSALIND  AND   HiiLi^N. 

He  lived,  till  fear  grew  hope  and  faith, 

And  in  my  soul  I  dared  to  say, 

Nothing  so  bright  can  pass  away: 

Death  is  dark,  and  foul  and  dull, 

But  he  is — O  how  beautiful ! 

Yet  day  by  day  he  grew  more  weak, 

And  his  sweet  voice,  when  he  might  speak, 

Which  ne'er  was  loud,  became  more  low  ; 

And  the  light  which  flashed  through  his  waxen  cheek 

Grew  faint,  as  the  rose-like  hues  which  flow 

From  sunset  o'er  the  Alpine  snow: 

And  death  seemed  not  like  death  in  him, 

For  the  spirit  of  life  o'er  every  limb 

Lingered,  a  mist  of  sence  and  thought. 

When  the  summer  wind  faint  odours  brought 

From  mountain  flowers,  even  as  it  passed, 

His  cheek  would  change,  as  the  noon-day  sea 

Which  the  dying  breeze  sweeps  fitfully. 

If  but  a  cloud  the  sky  o'ercast, 

You  might  see  his  colour  come  and  go, 

And  the  softest  strain  of  music  made 

Sweet  smiles,  yet  sad,  arise  and  fade 

Amid  the  dew  of  his  tender  eyes  ; 

And  the  breath,  with  intermitting  flow, 

Made  his  pale  lips  quiver  and  part. 

You  might  hear  the  beatings  of  his  heart ; 

Quick,  but  not  strong,  and  with  my  tresses 

When  oft  he  playfully  would  bind 

In  the  bowers  of  mossy  lonelinesses 

His  neck,  and  win  me  so  to  mingle 

In  the  sweet  depth  of  woven  caresses, 

And  our  faint  limbs  were  interwined, 

Alas  !  the  unquiet  life  did  tingle 

From  mine  own  heart  through  every  vein, 

Like  a  captive  in  dreams  of  liberty, 

Who  beats  the  walls  of  his  stony  cell. 

But  his,  it  seemed  already  free, 

Like  the  shadow  of  fire  surrounding  me  ! 

On  my  faint  eyes  and  limbs  did  dwell 

That  spirit  as  it  passed,  till  soon, 

As  a  frail  cloud  wandering  o'er  the  moon, 

Beneath  its  light  invisible, 

Is  seen  when  it  folds  its  grey  wings  again 

To  alight  on  midnight's  dusky  plain, 

I  lived  and  saw,  and  the  gathering  soul 

Passed  from  beneath  that  strong  control, 

And  I  fell  on  a  life  which  was  sick  with  fear 

Of  all  the  woe  that  now  I  bear. 

Amid  a  bloomless  myrtle  wood, 

On  a  green  and  sea-girt  promontory, 


326  ROSALIND  AND  HELEN. 

Not  far  from  where  we  dwelt,  there  etood 

In  record  of  a  sweet  sad  story, 

An  altar  and  a  temple  bright 

Circled  by  steps,  and  o'er  the  gate 

Was  sculptured,  "  To  Fidelity  ;" 

And  in  the  shrine  an  image  sate, 

All  veiled ;  but  there  was  seen  the  light 

Of  smiles,  which  faintly  could  express 

A  mingled  pain  and  tenderness 

Through  that  ethereal  drapery. 

The  left  hand  held  the  head,  the  right — 

Beyond  the  veil,  beneath  the  skin, 

You  might  see  the  nerves  quivering  within— 

Was  forcing  the  point  of  a  barbed  dart 

Into  its  side-convulsing  heart. 

An  unskilled  hand,  yet  one  informed 

With  genius,  had  the  marble  warmed 

With  that  paihetic  life.     This  tale 

It  told :  A  dog  had  from  the  sea, 

When  the  tide  was  raging  fearfully, 

Dragged  Lionel's  mother,  weak  and  pale, 

Then  died  beside  her  on  the  sand, 

And  she  that  temple  thence  had  planned | 

But  it  was  Lionel's  own  hand 

Had  wrought  the  image.     Each  new  moon 

That  lady  did,  in  this  lone  fane, 

The  rites  of  a  religion  sweet, 

Whose  god  was  in  her  heart  and  brain : 

The  seasons'  loveliest  flowers  were  strewn 

On  the  marble  floor  beneath  her  feet, 

And  she  brought  crowns  of  sea-buds  white, 

Whose  odour  is  so  sweet  and  faint, 

And  weeds,  like  branching  chrysolite. 

Woven  in  devices  nix:  a«u  quaiav 

And  tears  from  her  brown  eyes  did  stain 

The  altar  :  need  but  look  upon 

That  dying  statue,  fair  and  wan, 

If  tears  should  cease,  to  weep  again  ; 

And  rare  Arabian  odours  came, 

Though  the  myrtle  copses  steaming  thence 

From  the  hissing  frankincense, 

Whose  smoke,  wool-white  as  ocean  foam, 

Hung  in  dence  flocks  beneath  the  dome, 

That  ivory  dome,  whose  azure  night 

With  golden  stars,  like  hoaven  was  bright 

O'er  the  split  cedars,  pointed  flame  ; 

And  the  lady's  harp  would  kindle  there 

The  melody  of  an  old  air 

Softer  than  sleep  ;  the  villagers 

Mixt  their  religion  up  with  her's 

And,  as  they  listened  round,  shed  tears. 


ROSALIND  AND  HELEN.  327 

One  eve  he  led  me  to  this  fane ; 

Daylight  on  its  last  purple  cloud 

Was  lingering  grey,  and  soon  her  strain 

The  nightingale  began  ;  now  loud, 

Climbing  in  circles  the  windless  sky, 

Now  dying  music;  suddenly 

'Tis  scattered  in  a  thousand  notes; 

And  now  to  the  hushed  ear  it  floats 

Like  field-smells  known  in  infancy, 

Then  failing  soothes  the  air  again. 

We  sate  within  that  temple  lone, 

Pavilioned  round  with  Parian  stone  : 

His  mother's  harp  stood  near,  and  oft 

I  had  awakened  music  soft 

Amid  its  wires  ;  the  nightingale 

Was  pausing  in  her  heaven-taught  tale: 

"  Now  drain  the  cup,"  said  Lionel, 

"  Which  the  poet-bird  has  crowned  so  well 

With  the  wine  ot  her  bright  and  liquid  songl 

Heardst  thou  not  sweet  words  among 

That  heaven-resounnding  minstrelsy  1 

Heardst  thou  not,  that  those  who  die 

Awake  in  a  world  of  extasy  ? 

That  love,  when  limbs  are  interwoven, 

And  sleep,  when  the  night  of  life  is  cloven, 

And  thought,  to  the  world's  dim  boundaries  clinging 

And  music,  when  one  beloved  is  singing, 

Is  death  ?     Let  us  drain  right  joyously 
The  cup  which  the  sweet  bird  fills  for  me." 

He  paused,  and  to  my  lips  he  bent 

His  own  :  like  spirit  his  words  went 

Through  all  my  limbs  with  the  speed  of  fire  ; 

And  his  keen  eyes,  glittering  through  mine, 

Filled  me  with  the  flame  divine, 

Which  in  their  orbs  was  burning  far, 

Like  the  light  of  an  unmeasured  star. 

In  the  sky  of  midnight  dark  and  deep  : 

Yes,  'twas  his  soul  that  did  inspire 

Sounds  which  my  skill  could  ne'er  awaken 

And  first,  1  felt  my  fingers  sweep 

The  harp,  and  a  long  quivering  cry 

Burst  from  my  lips  in  symphony  : 

The  dusk  and  solid  air  was  shaken, 

As  swift  and  swifter  the  notes  came 

Prom  my  touch,  that  wandered  like  quick  fiarc.e, 

And  from  my  bosom,  labouring 

With  some  unutterable  thing ; 

The  awful  sound  of  my  own  voice  made 

My  faint  lips  tremble;  in  some  mood 

Of  wordless  thought  Lionel  stood 


328  ROSALIND  AND  HELEN. 

So  pale,  that  even  beside  his  cheek 
The  snowy  colu  mi  from  its  shade 
Caught  whiteness  :  yet  his  countenance 
Raised  upward,  bir  led  with  radiance 
Of  spirit-piercing  joy,  whose  light, 
Like  the  moon  struggling  through  the  night 
Of  whirlwind -rifted  clouds,  did  break 
With  beams  that  might  not  be  confined. 
I  paused,  hut  soon  his  gestures  kindled 
New  power,  as  by  the  moving  wind 
The  waves  are  lifted,  and  my  song 
To  low  soft  notes  now  changed  and  dwindled, 
And  form  the  twinkling  wires  among, 
My  languid  fingers  drew  and  flung 
Circles  of  life-dissolving  sound 
Yet  faint :  in  aery  rings  they  bound 
My  Lionel,  who,  as  every  strain 
Grew  fainter  but  more  sweet,  his  mien 
Sunk  with  the  sound  relaxedly; 
And  slowly  now  he  turned  to  me, 
As  slowly  faded  from  his  face 
That  awful  joy  :  with  looks  serene 
•  He  was  soon  drawn  to  my  embrace, 
And  my  wild  song  then  died  away 
In  murmurs  :  words,  1  dare  not  say 
We  mixed,  and  on  his  lips  mine  feu 
Till  they  methought  felt  still  and  cold; 
"  What  is  it  with  thee,  love  ?"   I  said  j 
No  word,  no  look,  no  motion  1  yes, 
There  was  a  change,  but  spare  to  guess, 
Nor  let  that  moment's  hope  be  told, 
I  looked,  and  knew  that  he  was  dead, 
And  fell,  as  the  eagle  on  the  plain 
Falls,  when  life  deserts,  her  brain, 
And  the  mortal  lightning  is  veiled  again. 

Oh  that  I  were  now  dead  !  but  such, 
Did  they  not,  love,  demand  too  much 
Those  dying  murmurs  1   He  forbade. 
Oh  that  I  once  again  were  mad  ! 
And  yet,  dear  Rosalind,  not  so, 
For  I  would  live  to  share  thy  woe. 
Sweet  boy,  did  I  forget  thee  too  ? 
Alas,  we  know  not  what  we  do 
When  we  speak  words. 

No  memory  more 
Is  in  my  mind  of  that  sea  shore. 
Madness  came  on  me,  and  a  troop 


ROSALIND  AND  HELEN.  329 

Of  misty  shapes  did  seem  to  sit 

Beside  me,  on  a  vessel's  poop, 

And  the  clear  north-wind  was  driving  it. 

Then  I  heard  strange  tongues,  and  saw  strange  flowers, 

And  the  stars  metluught  grew  unlike  ours, 

And  (he  azure  sky  and  the  stormless  sea 

Made  me  believe  that  I  had  died, 

And  waked  in  a  world,  which  was  to  me 

Drear  hell,  though  heaven  to  all  beside. 

Then  a  dead  sleep  fell  on  my  mind, 

Whilst  animal  life  many  long  years 

Had  rescued  from  a  chasm  of  tears  ; 

And  when  I  woke,  I  wept  to  find 

That  the  same  lady,  bright  and  wise, 

With  silver  locks  and  quick  brown  eyes, 

The  mother  of  my  Lionel, 

Had  tended  me  in  my  distress, 

And  died  some  months  before.     Nor  less 

Wond  er,  but  far  more  peace  and  joy, 

Brought  in  that  hour  my  lovely  boy  ; 

For  through  that  trance  my  soul  had  well 

The  impress  of  thy  being  kept : 

And  if  I  waked,  or  if  I  slept, 

No  doubt,  though  memory  faithless  be, 

Thy  image  ever  dwelt  on  me ; 

And  thus,  O  Lionel  !  like  thee 

Is.  our  sweet  child.     'Tis  sure  most  strange 

I  knew  not  of  so  great  a  change, 

As  that  which  gave  him  birth,  who  now 

Is  all  the  solace  of  my  woe. 

That  Lionel  great  wealth  had  left 

By  will  to  me,  and  that  of  all 

The  ready  lies  of  law  bereft 

My  child  and  me  might  well  befall. 

But  let  me  think  not  of  the  scorn, 

Which  from  the  meanest  I  have  borne, 

W'hen,  for  my  child's  beloved  sake, 

I  mixed  with  slaves,  to  vindicate 

The  very  laws  themselves  do  make  : 

Let  me  not  say  scorn  is  my  fate, 

Lest  I  be  proud,  suffering  the  same 

With  those  who  live  in  deathless  fame. 

She  ceased. — "  Lo,  where  red  morning  through  the  woods 

Is  burning  o'er  the  dew  !"  said  Rosalind. 

And  with  these  words  they  rose,  and  towards  the  flood 

Of  the  blue  lake,  beneath  the  leaves  now  wind 

With  equal  steps  and  fingers  intertwined  : 

Thence  to  a  lonely  dwelling,  where  the  shore 

Is  shadowed  with  rocks,  and  cypresses 

Cleave  with  their  dark  green  cones  the  silent  skies, 


330  ROSALIND  AND  HELEN. 

And  with  their  shadows  the  clear  depths  below, 

And  where  a  little  terrace  from  its  bowers, 

Of  blooming  myrtle  and  faint  lemon -flowers, 

Scatters  its  sense-dissolving  fragrance  o'er 

The  liquid  marble  of  the  windless  lake  ; 

And  where  the  aged  forest's  limbs  look  hoar, 

Under  the  leaves  which  their  green  garments  make, 

They  come ;  'tis  Helen's  home,  and  clean  and  white 

Like  one  which  tyrants  spare  on  our  own  land 

In  some  such  solitude,  its  casements  bright 

Shone  through  their  vine-leaves  in  the  morning  sun, 

And  even  within  'twas  scarce  like  Italy. 

And  when  she  saw  how  all  things  there  were  planned, 

As  in  an  English  home,  dim  memory 

Disturbed  poor  Rosalind :  she  stood  as  one 

Whose  mind  is  where  his  body  cannot  be, 

Till  Helen  led  her  where  her  child  yet  slept, 

And  said,  "  Observe,  that  brow  was  Lionel's, 

Those  lips  were  his,  and  so  he  ever  kept 

One  arm  in  sleep,  pillowing  his  head  with  it. 

You  cannot  see  his  eyes,  they  are  two  wells 

Of  liquid  love  :  let  us  not  wake  him  yet." 

But  Rosalind  could  bear  no  more,  and  wept 

A  shower  of  burning  tears,  which  fell  upon 

His  face,  and  so  his  opening  lashes  shone 

With  tears  unlike  his  own,  as  he  did  leap 

In  suddeu  wonder  from  his  innocent  sleep. 

So  Rosalind  and  Helen  lived  together 

Thenceforth,  changed  in  all  else,  yet  friends  again, 

Such  as  they  were,  when  o'er  the  mountain  heather 

They  wandered  in  their  youth,  through  sun  and  rain. 

And  after  many  years,  for  human  things 

Change  even  like  the  ocean  and  the  wind, 

Her  daughter  was  restored  to  Rosalind, 

And  in  their  circle  thence  some  visitings 

Of  joy  'mid  their  new  calm  would  intervene: 

A  lovely  child  she  was,  of  looks  serene, 

And  motions  which  o'er  things  indifferent  shed 

The  grace  and  gentleness  from  whence  they  came. 

And  Helen's  boy  grew  with  her,  and  they  fed 

From  the  same  flowers  of  thought,  until  each  mind 

Like  springs  which  mingle  in  one  flood  became. 

And  in  their  union  soon  their  parents  saw 

The  shadow  of  the  peace  denied  to  them. 

And  Rosalind,  tor  when  the  living  stem 

Is  cankered  in  its  heart,  the  tree  must  fall, 

Died  ere  her  time  ;  and  with  deep  grief  and  awe 

The  pale  survivors  followed  her  remains 

Beyond  the  region  of  dissolving  rains, 


ROSALIND  AND  HELEN.  331 

Up  the  cold  mountain  she  was  wont  to  call 

Her  tomb  ;  and  on  Chiavenna's  precipice 

They  raised  a  pyramid  of  lasting  ice, 

Whose  polished  sides,  ere  day  had  yet  begun, 

Caught  the  first  glow  of  the  unrisen  sun, 

The  last,  when  it  had  sunk;  and  though  the  nigl.t 

The  charioteers  of  Arctos  wheeled  round 

Its  glittering  point,  as  seen  from  Helen's  home, 

Whose  sad  inhabitants  each  year  would  come 

With  willing  steps,  climbing  that  rugged  height, 

And  hang  long  locks  of  hair,  and  garlands  bound 

With  amaranth  flowers,  which,  in  the  clime's  despite, 

Filled  the  frore  air  with  unaccustomed  light ; 

Such  flowers,  as  in  the  wintry  memory  bloom 

Of  one  friend  left,  adorned  that  frozen  tomb. 

Helen,  whose  spirit  was  of  softer  mould, 

Whose  sufferings  too  were  less,  death  slowlier  led 

Into  the  peace  of  his  dominion  cold; 

She  died  among  her  kindred,  being  old  ; 

And  know,  that  if  love  die  not  in  the  dead 

As  in  the  living,  none  o?  mortal  kind 

Are  blest  as  now  Heien  and  Rosalind. 


ElfD   OF   BOSALINO   AND   HELEN. 


332 


EPIPSYCHIDION: 

VERSES    ADRESSED    TO    THE    NOBLE    AND    UNFORTUNATE 

LADY  EMILIA  V — . 

NOW    IMPRISONED    IN    THE    CONVENT    OF 


My  Song,  I  fear  that  thou  wilt  find  but  few 
Who  fitly  shall  conceive  thy  reasoning, 
Of  such  hard  matter,  dost  thou  entertain; 
Whence,  if  by  misadventure,  chance  should  bring 
Thee  to  base  company,  (as  chance  may  do) 
Quite  unaware  of  what  thou  dost  contain, 
1  prithee,  comfort  thy  sweet  self  again, 
My  last  delight !  tell  them  that  they  are  dull, 
And  bid  them  own  that  thou  art  beautiful. 


Sweet  Spirit !  Sister  of  that  orphan  one, 
Whose  empire  is  the  name  thou  weepest  on, 
In  my  heart's  temple  I  suspend  to  thee 
These  votive  wreaths  of  withered  memory. 

Poor  captive  bird !  who,  from  thy  narrow  cage, 
Pourest  such  music,  that  it  might  assuage 
The  rugged  hearts  of  those  who  prisoned  thee, 
Were  they  not  deaf  to  all  sweet  melody  ; 
This  song  shall  be  thy  rose  :  its  petals  pale 
Are  dead,  indeed,  my  adored  Nightingale  ! 
But  soft  and  fragrant  is  the  faded  blossom, 
And  it  has  no  thorn  left  to  wound  thy  bosom. 

High,  spirit-winged  Heart !  who  dost  for  ever 
Beat  thine  unfeeling  bars  with  vain  endeavour, 
Till  those  bright  plumes  of  thought,  in  which  arrayed 
It  over-soared  this  low  and  worldly  shade, 
Lie  shattered  ;  and  thy  panting  wounded  breast 
Stains  with  dear  blood  its  unmaternal  nest! 
I  weep  vain  tears  :  blood  would  less  bitter  be, 
Yet  poured  forth  gladlier,  could  it  profit  thee. 

Seraph  of  Heaven  !   too  gentle  to  be  human. 
Veiling  beneath  that  radiant  form  of  Woman 


EPIPSYCHID10N.  333 

All  that  is  insupportable  in  thee 

Of  light,  and  love,  and  immortality  ! 

Sweet  Benediction  in  the  eternal  Curse  ! 

Veiled  Glory  of  this  lampless  Universe  ! 

Thou  Moon  beyond  the  clouds  !     Thou  living  Form 

Among  the  Dead  !  Thou  Star  above  the  Storm  ! 

Thou  Wonder,  and  thou  Beauty,  and  thou  Terror; 

Thou  Harmony  of  Nature's  art !  Thou  Mirror 

In  whom,  as  in  the  splendour  of  the  Sun, 

All  shapes  look  glorious  which  thou  gazest  on  1 

Ay,  even  the  dim  words  which  obscure  thee  now 

Flash,  lightning-like,  with  unaccustomed  glow; 

I  pray  thee  that  thou  blot  from  this  sad  song 

Allot'  its  much  mortality  and  wrong, 

With  those  clear  drops,  which  start  like  sacred  dew 

From  the  twin  lights  thy  sweet  soul  darkness  through, 

Weeping,  till  sorrow  becomes  ecstasy  ; 

Then  smile  on  it,  so  that  it  may  not  die. 

I  never  thought  before  my  death  to  see 
Youth's  vision  thus  made  perfect:   Emily, 
I  love  thee  ;  though  the  world  by  no  thin  name 
Will  hide  that  love,  from  its  unvalued  shame. 
Would  we  two  had  been  twins  of  the  same  mother ! 
Or,  that  the  name  my  heart  lent  to  another 
Could  be  a  sister's  bond  for  her  and  thee. 
Blending  two  beams  of  one  eternity  1 
Yet  were  one  lawful  and  the  other  true, 
These  names,  though  dear,  could  paint  not, as  is  due, 
How  beyond  refuge  I  am  thine.     Ah  me! 
I  am  not  thine  :   I  am  a  part  of  thee. 

Sweet  Lamp !  my  moth -like  Muse  has  burnt  its  wings, 
Or,  like  a  dying  swan  who  soars  and  sings, 
Young  Love  should  teach  Time,  in  his  own  grey  style, 
All  that  thou  art.     Art  thou  not  void  of  guile, 
A  lovely  soul  formed  to  be  blest  and  bless? 
A  well  of  sealed  and  secret  happiness, 
Whose  waters  like  blithe  light  and  music  are, 
Vanquishing  dissonance  and  gloom?     A  Star 
Which  moves  not  in  the  moving  Heavens,  alone  ? 
A  smile  amid  dark  frowns?  a  gentle  tone 
Amid  rude  voices  ?  a  beloved  light  ? 
A  Solitude,  a  Refuge,  a  Delight.? 
A  Lute,  which  those  whom  love  has  taught  to  play 
Make  music  on,  to  soothe  the  roughest  day, 
And  lull  fond  grief  asleep  ?  a  buried  treasure  ? 
A  cradle  of  young  thoughts  of  wingless  pleasure? 
A  voilet-shouded  grave  of  Woe?— I  measure 
The  world  of  fancies,  seeking  one  like  thee, 
And  find — alas !  mine  own  infirmity. 


334  EPJPSYCHIDION. 

She  met  me,  Stranger,  upon  Life's  rough  way, 
And  lured  me  towards  sweet  Death;  as  Night  by  Day 
Winter  by  Spring,  or  Sorrow  by  swift  Hope, 
Led  into  light,  life,  peace.     An  antelope, 
In  the  suspended  impulse  of  its  lightness, 
Were  less  ethereally  light:  the  brightness 
Of  her  divinest  presence  trembles  through 
Her  limbs,  as  underneath  a  cloud  of  dew 
Embodied  in  the  windless  Heaven  of  June, 
Amid  the  splendour-winged  stars,  the  Moon 
Burns,  inextinguishably  beautiful : 
And  from  her  lips,  as  from  a  hyacinth  full 
Of  honey-dew,  a  liquid  murmur  drops, 
Killing  the  sense  with  passion  ;  sweet  as  stops 
Of  planetary  music  heard  in  trance. 
In  her  mild  lights  the  starry  spirits  dance, 
The  sun-beams  of  those  wells  which  ever  leap 
Under  the  lightnings  of  the  soul — too  deep 
For  the  brief  fathom-line  of  thought  or  sense. 
The  glory  of  her  being,  issuing  thence, 
Stains  the  dead,  blank,  cold  air,  with  a  warm  shade 
Of  unen tangled  intermixture  made 
By  Love,  of  light  and  motion;  one  intense 
Diffusion,  one  serene  Omnipresence, 
\Y  hose  flowing  outlines  mingle  in  their  flowing 
Around  her  cheeks  and  utmost  fingers  glowing 
With  the  unintermitted  blood,  which  there 
Quivers,  (as  in  a  fleece  of  snow-like  air 
The  crimson  pulse  of  living  morning  quiver,) 
Continuously  prolonged,  and  ending  never, 
Till  they  are  lost,  and  in  that  Beauty  furled 
Which  penetrates  and  clasps  and  fills  the  world : 
Scarce  visible  from  extreme  loveliness. 
Warm  fragrance  seems  to  fall  from  her  light  dress, 
And  her  loose  hair,  and  where  some  heavy  tress 
The  air  of  her  own  speed  has  disentwined, 
The  sweetness  seems  to  satiate  the  faint  wind  : 
And  in  the  soul  a  wild  odour  is  felt, 
Beyond  the  sense,  like  fiery  dews  that  melt 
Into  the  bosom  of  a  frozen  bud. 
See  where  she  stands  !  a  mortal  shape  endued 
With  love  and  life  and  light  and  deity, 
And  motion  which  may  change  but  cannot  die; 
An  image  of  some  bright  Eternity  ; 
A  shadow  of  some  golden  dream  ;  a  Splendour 
Leaving  the  third  sphere  pilotless  ;  a  tender 
Reflection  of  the  eternal  Moon  of  Love 
Under  whose  motions  life's  dull  billows  move; 
A  Metaphor  or  Spring  and  Youth  and  Morning; 
A  Vision  like  incarnate  April,  warning, 


EPIPSYCH1DI0N.  835 

With  smiles  and  tears,  Frost  the  Anatomy 
Into  his  summer  grave. 

Ah  !  woe  is  me  ! 
What  have  I  dared  ?  where  am  I  lifted  ?  how 
Shall  I  descend,  and  perish  not?   I  know 
That  love  makes  all  things  equal:   I  have  heard 
By  mine  own  heart  this  joyous  truth  averred  : 
The  spirit  of  the  worm  beneath  the  sod, 
In  love  and  worship,  blends  itself  with  God. 

Spouse!  Sister!  Angel!  Pilot  of  the  Fate 
Whose  course  has  been  so  starless!     O  too  late 
Beloved  !  O  too  soon  adored,  by  me  ! 
For  in  the  fields  of  immortality 
My  spirit  should  at  first  have  worshipped  thine, 
A  divine  presence  in  a  place  divine  : 
Or  should  have  moved  beside  it  on  this  earth, 
A  shadow  of  that  substance,  from  its  birth; 
But  not  as  now : — I  love  thee  ;  yes,  I  feel 
That  on  the  fountain  of  my  heart  a  seal 
Is  set,  to  keep  its  waters  pure  and  bright 
For  thee,  since  in  those  tears  thou  hast  delight. 
We — are  we  not  formed,  as  notes  of  music  are 
For  one  another,  though  dissimilar ; 
Such  difference  without  discord,  as  can  make 
Those  sweetest  sounds,  in  which  all  spirits  shake 
As  trembling  leaves  in  a  continuous  air 

Thy  wisdom  speaks  in  me,  and  bids  me  dare 
Beacon  the  rocks  on  which  high  hearts  are  wreckt. 
I  never  was  attached  to  that  great  sect, 
Whose  doctrine  is,  that  each  one  should  select 
Out  of  the  crowd  a  mistress  or  a  friend, 
And  all  the  rest,  though  fair  and  wise,  commend 
To  cold  oblivion,  though  it  is  in  the  code 
Of  modern  morals,  and  the  beaten  road 
Which  those  poor  slaves  with  weary  footsteps  tread, 
Who  travel  to  their  home  among  the  dead 
By  the  broad  highway  of  the  world,  and  so, 
With  one  chained  friend,  perhaps  a  jealous  foe, 
The  dreariest  and  the  longest  journey  go. 

True  Love  in  thie  differs  from  gold  and  clay, 
That  to  divide  is  not  to  take  away. 
Love  is  like  understanding,  that  grows  bright, 
Gazing  on  many  truths  ;  'tis  like  thy  light, 
Imagination  !  which,  from  earth  and  sky, 
And  from  the  depths  of  human  phantasy, 
As  fiom  a  thousand  prisons  and  mirrors,  fills 
The  Universe  with  glorious  beams,  and  kills 
Error,  the  worm,  with  many  a  sun-like  arrow 


336  EPIPSYCHIDION. 

Of  its  reverberated  lightning.     Narrow 
The  heart  that  loves,  the  brain  that  contemplates, 
The  life  that  wears,  the  spirit  that  creates 
One  object,  and  one  form,  and  builds  thereby 
A  sepulchre  for  its  eternity. 

Mind  from  its  object  differs  most  in  thij; 
Evil  from  good  ;  misery  from  happiness; 
The  baser  from  the  nobler:    the  impure 
And  frail,  from  what  is  clear  and  must  endure. 
If  you  divide  suffering  and  dross,  you  may 
Diminish  till  it  is  consumed  away; 
If  you  divide  pleasure  and  love  and  thought, 
Each  part  exceeds  the  whole  :  and  we  know  not 
How  much,  while  any  yet  remains  unshared, 
Of  pleasure  may  be  gained,  of  sorrow  spared  ; 
This  truth  is  that  deep  well,  whence  sages  draw 
The  unenvied  light  of  hope  ;  the  eternal  law 
By  which  those  live,  to  whom  this  world  of  life 
Is  as  a  garden  ravaged,  and  whose  strife 
Tills  for  the  promise  of  a  later  birth 
The  wilderness  of  this  Elysian  earth. 

There  was  a  Being  whom  my  spirit  oft 
Met  on  its  visioned  wanderings,  far  aloft, 
In  the  clear  golden  prime  of  my  youth's  dawn, 
Upon  the  fairy  isles  of  sunny  lawn, 
Amid  the  enchanted  mountains,  and  the  caves 
Of  divine  sleep,  and  on  the  air-like  waves 
Of  wonder-level  dream,  whose  tremulous  floor 
Paved  her  light  steps; — on  an  imagined  shore, 
Under  the  grey  beak  of  some  promontory 
She  met  me,  robed  in  such  exceeding  glory, 
That  I  beheld  her  not.     In  solitudes 
Her  voice  came  to  me  through  the  whispering  woods, 
And  from  the  fountains,  and  the  odours  deep 
Of  flowers,  which,  like  lips  murmuring  in  their  sleep 
Of  the  sweet  kisses  which  had  lulled  them  there, 
Breathed  but  of  her  to  the  enamoured  air  ; 
And  from  the  breezes  whether  low  or  loud, 
And  from  the  rain  of  every  passing  cloud, 
And  from  the  singing  of  the  summer-birds, 
And  from  all  sounds,  all  silence.     In  the  words 
Of  antique  verse  and  high  romance, — in  form, 
Sound,  colour — in  whatever  checks  that  Storm 
Which  with  the  shattered  present  chokes  the  past ; 
And  in  that  best  philosphy,  whose  taste 
Makes  this  cold  common  hell,  our  life,  a  doom 
As  glorious  as  a  fiery  martyrdom  ; 
Her  Spirit  was  the  harmony  of  truth. — 


EPIPSYCHIDION.  337 

Then,  from  the  caverns  of  my  dreamy  youth 
I  sprang,  as  one  sandalled  with  plumes  of  fire, 
And  towards  the  loadstar  of  my  one  desire, 
I  flitted,  like  a  dizzy  moth,  whose  flight 
Is  as  a  dead  leafs  in  the  owlet  light, 
When  it  would  seek  in  Hesper's  setting  sphere 
A  radiant  death,  a  fiery  sepulchre 
As  if  it  were  a  lamp  of  earthly  flame. — 
But  She,  whom  prayers  or  tears,  then  could  not  tame, 
Past,  like  a  God  throned  on  a  winged  planet, 
Whose  burning  plumes  to  tenfold  swiftness  fan  it, 
Into  the  dreary  cone  of  our  life's  shade; 
And  as  a  man  with  mighty  loss  dismayed, 
I  would  have  followed,  though  the  grave  between 
Yawned  like  a  gulf  whose  spectres  are  unseen: 
When  a  voice  said  : — "  O  Thou  of  hearts  the  weakest, 
The  phantom  is  beside  thee  whom  thou  seekest." 
Then  I — "where?"  the  world's  echo  answered  "where!" 
And  in  that  silence,  and  in  my  despair, 
I  questioned  every  tongueless  wind  that  flew 
Over  my  tower  of  mourning,  if  it  knew 
Whither  'twas  fled,  this  soul  out  of  my  soul ; 
And  murmured  names  and  spells  which  have  controul 
Over  the  sightless  tyrants  of  our  fate : 
But  neither  prayer  nor  verse  could  dissipate 
The  night  which  closed  on  her ;  nor  uncreate 
That  world  within  this  Chaos,  mine  and  me, 
Of  which  she  was  the  veiled  Divinity, 
The  world  I  say  of  thoughts  that  worshipped  her 
And  therefore  I  went  forth,  witli  hope  and  fear, 
And  every  gentle  passion  sick  to  death, 
Feeding  my  course  with  expectation's  breath, 
Into  the  wintry  forest  of  our  life ; 
And  struggling  through  its  error  with  vain  strife, 
And  stumbling  in  my  weakness  and  my  haste, 
And  half  bewildered  by  new  forms,  I  past 
Seeking  among  those  untaught  foresters 
If  I  could  find  one  form  resembling  hers, 
In  which  she  might  have  masked  herself  from  me. 
There, — One,  whose  voice  was  venomed  melody 
Sate  by  a  well,  under  blue  night-shade  bowers  ; 
The  breath  of  her  false  mouth  was  like  faint  flowers, 
Her  touch  was  as  electric  poison, — flame 
Out  of  her  looks  into  my  vitals  came, 
And  from  her  living  cheeks  and  bosom  flew 
A  killing  air,  which  pierced  like  honey-dew 
Into  the  core  of  my  green  heart,  and  lay 
Upon  its  leaves  :  until  as  hair  grown  grey 
O'er  a  young  brow,  they  hid  its  unblown  prime 
With  ruins  of  unseasonable  time. 


338  EPIPSYCHIDION. 

In  many  mortal  forms  I  rashly  sought 
The  shadow  of  that  idol  of  my  thought. 
And  some  were  fair — but  beauty  dies  away : 
Others  were  wise — but  honeyed  words  betray 
And  One  was  true — oh  !  why  not  true  to  me  ? 
Then,  as  a  hunted  deer  that  could  not  flee, 
I  turned  upon  my  thoughts,  and  stood  at  bay, 
Wounded  and  weak  and  panting:  the  cold  day 
Trembled,  for  pity  of  my  strife  and  pain, 
When,  like  a  noon-day  dawn,  there  shone  again 
Deliverance.     One  stood  on  my  path  who  seemed 
As  like  the  glorious  shape  which  I  had  dreamed, 
As  is  the  Moon,  whose  changes  ever  run 
Into  themselves,  to  the  eternal  Sun ; 

The  cold  chaste  Moon,  the  Queen  of  Heaven's  bright  isles, 
Who  makes  all  beautiful  on  which  she  smiles, 
That  wandering  shrine  of  soft  yet  icy  flame 
Which  ever  is  transformed,  yet  still  the  same, 
And  warms  not  but  illumines.     Young  and  fair 
As  the  descended  Spirit  of  that  sphere, 
She  hid  me,  as  the  Moon  may  hide  the  night 
From  its  own  darkness,  until  all  was  bright 
Between  the  Heaven  and  Earth  of  my  calm  mind, 
And,  as  a  cloud  charioted  by  the  wind, 
She  led  me  to  a  cave  in  that  wild  place, 
And  sate  beside  me,  with  her  downward  face 
Illumining  my  slumbers,  like  the  Moon 
Waxing  and  waning  o'er  Endymion. 
And  I  was  laid  asleep,  spirit  and  limb, 
And  all  my  being  became  bright  or  dim 
As  the  Moon's  image  in  a  summer  sea, 
According  as  she  smiled  or  frowned  on  me  ; 
And  there  I  lay,  within  a  chaste  cold  bed : 
Alas,  I  then  was,  nor  alive  nor  dead : — 
For  at  her  silver  voice  came  Death  and  Life, 
Unmindful  each  of  their  accustomed  strife, 
Masked  like  twin  babes,  a  sister  and  a  brother, 
The  wandering  hopes  of  one  abandoned,  mother, 
And  through  the  cavern  without  wings  they  flew, 
And  cried,  "  Away  !  he  is  not  of  our  crew." 
I  wept,  and,  though  it  be  a  dream,  I  weep. — 

What  storms  then  shook  the  ocean  of  my  sleep, 
Blotting  that  Moon,  whose  pale  and  waning  lips 
Then  shrank  as  in  the  sickness  of  eclipse  ; — 
And  how  my  soul  was  as  a  lampless  sea, 
And  who  was  then  its  Tempest ;  and  when  She, 
The  Planet  of  that  hour,  was  cpjenched,  what  frost 
Crept  o'er  those  waters,  'till  from  coast  to  coast 
The  moving  billows  of  my  being  fell 


EPIPSYCHIDION. 

In tn  a  death  of  ice,  immoveable  ; — ■ 

An  I  llu»n — what  earthquakes  made  it  gape  and  split, 

Tiit  white  Moon  smiling  all  the  while  on  it, 

The  .  words  conceal : — If  not,  each  word  world  be 

T!i j  !  ey  of  staunchless  tears.     Weep  not  for  me  ! 

At  length,  into  the  obscure  Forest  came 
Tin1  vision  I  had  sought  through  grief  and  shame. 
Athwi  rt  that  wintry  wilderness  of  thorns 
Flash-  d  from  her  motion  splendour  like  the  Morn's 
And  1  am  her  presence  life  was  radiated 
Thvough  the  grey  earth  and  branches  bare  and  dead  : 
So  that  her  way  was  paved,  and  roofed  abov 
With  flowers  as  soft  as  thoughts  of  budding  Jovp  ; 
Ami  music  from  her  respiration  spread 
Like  light, — all  other  sounds  were  penetrated 
By  the  small,  still,  sweet  spirit  of  that  sound, 
So  that  the  savage  winds  hung  mute  around; 
And  odours  warm  and  fresh  fell  from  her  hair 
Dissolving  the  dull  cold  in  the  froze  air: 
Soft  as  an  Incarnation  of  the  Sun. 
When  light  is  changed  to  love,  this  glorious  One 
Floated  into  the  cavern  where  I  lay 
And  called  my  Spirit,  and  the  dreaming  clay 
Was  lifted  by  the  thing  that  dreamed  below 
As  smoke  by  fire,  and  in  her  beauties  glow 
I  stood,  and  felt  the  dawn  of  my  long  nierht 
Was  penetrating  me  with  living  light: 
I  knew  it  was  the  Vision  veiled  from  me. 
So  many  years — that  it  was  Emily. 

Thin  Spheres  of  light  who  rule  this  passive  Earth, 
This  world  of  love,  this  me. :  and  into  birth 
Awaken  all  its  fruits  and  flowers,  and  dart 
Magnetic  might  into  its  central  heart ; 
And  lift  its  billows  and  its  mists,  and  guide 
By  everlasting  laws  each  wind  and  tide 
To  its  fit  cloud,  and  its  appointed  cave; 
And  lull  its  storms,  each  in  the  craggy  grave 
Which  was  its  cradle,  luring  to  faint  bowers 
The  armies  of  the  rainbow-winged  showers* 
And,  as  those  married  lights,  which  from  the  towers 
Of  Heaven  look  forth  and  fold  the  wandering  globo 
In  liquid  sleep  and  splendour,  as  a  robe  ; 
And  all  their  many-mingled  influence  blend, 
If  equal,  yet  unlike,  to  one  sweet  end  ; — 
So  ye,  bright  regents  with  alternate  sway 
Govern  my  sphere  of  being,  night  and  day! 
Thou,  not  disdaining  even  a  borrowed  might; 
Thou,  not  eclipsing  a  remoter  light; 


340  EPIPSYCHIDION. 

And,  through  the  shadow  of  the  seasons  three, 

From  Spring  to  Autumn's  sere  maturity 

Light  it  into  the  Winter  of  the  tomb, 

Where  it  may  ripen  to  a  brighter  bloom, 

Thou  too,  O  Comet  beautiful  and  fierce, 

Who  drew  the  heart  of  this  frail  Universe 

Towards  thine  own  ;  till,  wreckt  in  that  convulsion, 

Alternating  attraction  and  repulsion, 

Thine  went  astray,  and  that  was  rent  in  twain; 

Oh,  float  into  our  azure  heaven  again  ! 

Be  there  love's  folding-star  at  thy  return ; 

The  living  Sun  will  feed  thee  from  its  urn 

Of  golden  fire  ;  the  Moon  will  veil  her  horn 

In  thy  last  smiles;  adoring  Even  and  Morn 

Will  worship  thee  with  incense  of  calm  breath 

And  lights  and  shadows  :  as  the  star  of  Death 

And  Birth  is  worshipped  by  those  sisters  wild 

Called  Hope  and  Fear — upon  the  heart  are  piled 

Their  offerings,— of  this  sacrifice  divine 


;nngs 
shall 


A  World  shall  be  the  altar. 

Lady  mine 
Scorn  not  these  flowers  of  thought,  the  fading  birth 
Wbich  from  its  heart  of  hearts  that  plant  puts  forth 
Whose  fruit,  made  perfect  by  thy  sunny  eyes, 
Will  be  as  of  the  trees  of  Paradise. 

The  day  is  come,  and  thou  wilt  fly  with  me. 
To  whatso'er  of  dull  mortality 
Is  mine,  remain  a  vestal  sister  still ; 
To  the  intense,  the  deep,  the  imperishable, 
Not  mine,  but  me,  henceforth  be  thou  united 
Even  as  a  bride,  delighting  and  delighted. 
The  hour  is  come  :— the  destined  Star  has  risen 
Which  shall  descend  upon  a  vacant  prison. 
The  walls  are  high,  the  gates  are  strong,  thickset 
The  sentinels— but  true  love  never  yet 
Was  thus  constrained  :  it  overleaps  all  fence  : 
Like  lightning,  with  invisible  violence 
Piercing  its  continents ;  like  Heaven's  free  breath, 
Which  he  who  grasps  can  hold  not ;  liker  Death, 
Who  rides  upon  a  thought,  and  makes  his  way 
Through  temple,  tower,  and  palace,  and  the  array 
Of  arms  :  more  strength  has  Love  than  he  or  they ; 
For  he  can  burst  its  charnel,  and  make  free 
The  limbs  in  chains,  the  heart  in  agony, 
The  soul  in  dust  and  chaos. 

Emily, 
A  ship  is  floating  in  the  harbour  now, 
A  wind  is  hovering  o'er  the  mountain's  brow; 


EPIPSYCHIDION.  341 

There  is  a  path  on  the  sea's  azure  floor, 

No  keel  has  ever  ploughed  that  path  before 

The  halcyons  brood  around  the  foamless  isles ; 

The  treacherous  Ocean  has  forsworn  its  wiles  ; 

The  merry  mariners  are  bold  and  free  : 

Say,  my  heart's  sister,  wilt  thou  sail  with  me  ? 

Our  bark  is  as  an  albatross,  whose  nest 

Is  a  far  Eden  of  the  purple  East ; 

And  we  between  her  wings  will  sit,  while  Night, 

And  Day,  and  Storm,  and  Calm,  pursue  their  flight, 

Our  ministers,  along  the  boundless  Sea, 

Treading  each  other's  heels,  unheededly. 

It  is  an  isle  under  Ionian  skies, 

Beautiful  as  a  wreck  of  Paradise 

And,  for  the  harbours  are  not  safe  and  good, 

This  land  would  have  remained  a  solitude 

But  for  some  pastoral  people  native  there, 

Who  from  the  Elysian,  clear,  and  golden  air 

Draw  the  last  spirit  of  the  age  of  gold, 

Simple  and  spirited  ;  innocent  and  bold. 

The  blue  JEgean  girds  this  chosen  home, 

With  ever-changing  sound  and  light  and  foam, 

Kissing  the  sifted  sands,  and  caverns  hoar  j 

And  all  the  winds  wandering  along  the  shore 

Undulate  with  the  undulating  tide  : 

There  are  thick  woods  where  sylvan  forms  abide; 

And  many  a  fountain,  rivulet,  and  pond, 

As  clear  as  elemental  diamond, 

Or  serene  morning  air  ;•  and  far  beyond, 

The  mossy  tracks  made  by  the  goats  and  deer 

(Which  the  rough  shepherd  treads  but  once  a  year.) 

Pierce  into  glades,  caverns,  and  bowers,  and  halls 

Built  round  with  ivy,  which  the  waterfalls 

Illumining,  with  sound  that  never  fails 

Accompany  the  noon-day  nightingales; 

And  all  the  place  is  peopled  with  sweet  airs  ; 

The  light  clear  element  which  the  isle  wears 

Is  heavy  with  the  scent  of  lemon-flowers, 

Which  floats  like  mist  laden  with  unseen  showers, 

And  falls  upon  the  eyelids  like  faint  sleep ; 

And  from  the  moss  violets  and  jonquils  peep, 

And  dart  their  arrowy  odour  through  the  brain 

'Till  you  might  faint  with  that  delicious  pair.. 

And  every  motion,  odour,  beam,  and  tone, 

With  that  deep  music  is  in  unison  : 

Which  is  a  soul  within  the  soul — they  seem 

Like  echoes  of  an  antenatal  dream. — 

It  is  an  isle  'twixt  Heaven,  Air,  Earth,  asd  Sea, 

Cradled,  and  hung  in  clear  tranquillity; 

Bright  as  that  wanJerii  g  E .leu  Lucifer, 


342  EPIPSYCHIDJON. 

Washed  by  the  soft  blue  Oceans  of  young  air 

It  is  a  favoured  place.     Famine  or  151ight, 

Pestilence,  War  and  Earthquake,  never  light 

Upon  its  mountain-peaks  blind  vultures,  they 

Sail  onward  far  upon  their  fatal  way : 

The  winged  storms,  chaunting  their  thunder-psalm 

To  other  lands,  leave  azure  chasms  of  calm 

Over  this  isle,  or  weep  themselves  in  dew, 

From  which  its  fields  and  woods  ever  renew 

Their  green  and  golden  immortality. 

And  from  the  sea  there  rise,  and  from  the  sky 

There  fall,  clear  exhalations,  soft  and  bright, 

Veil  after  veil,  each  hiding  some  delight, 

Which  Sun  or  Moon  or  zephyr  draw  aside, 

Till  the  isle's  beauty,  like  a  naked  bride 

Glowing  at  once  with  love  and  loveliness, 

Blushes  and  trembles  at  its  own  excess: 

Yet,  like  a  buried  lamp,  a  Soul  no  less 

Burns  in  the  heart  of  this  delicious  isle, 

An  atom  of  the  Eternal,  whose  own  smile 

Unfolds  itself,  and  may  be  felt,  not  seen 

O'er  the  grey  rocks,  blue  waves,  and  forests  green, 

Filling  their  bare  and  void  interstices. — 

But  the  chief  marvel  of  the  wilderness 

Is  a  lone  dwelling,  built  by  whom  or  how 

None  of  the  rustic  island-people  know  ; 

Tis  not  a  tower  of  strength,  though  with  its  height. 

It  overtops  the  woods  ;  but  for  delight, 

Some  wise  and  tender  Ocean- King,  ere  crime 

Had  been  invented,  in  the  world's  young  prime, 

Reared  it,  a  wonder  of  that  simple  time, 

An  envy  of  the  isles,  a  pleasure-house 

Made  sacred  to  his  sister  and  his  spouse. 

It  scarce  seems  now  a  wreck  of  human  art, 

But,  as  it  were,  Titanic  ;  in  the  heart 

Of  Earth  having  assumed  its  form,  then  grown 

Out  of  the  mountains,  from  the  living  stone, 

Lifting  itself  in  caverns  light  and  high: 

For  all  the  antique  and  learned  imagery 

Has  been  erased,  and  in  the  place  of  it 

The  ivy  and  the  wild-vine  interknit 

The  volumes  of  their  many-twining  stems; 

Parasite  flowers  illume  with  dewy  gems 

The  lampless  halls,  and  when  they  fade,  the  sky 

Peeps  through  their  winter-woof  of  tracery 

With  moonlight  patches,  or  star  atoms  keen, 

Or  fragments  of  the  day's  intense  serene; 

Working  mosaic  on  their  Parian  floors. 

And,  day  and  night,  aloof,  from  the  high  towers 

And  terraces,  the  Earth  and  Ocean  seem 


EPIPSYCIHDION.  343 

To  sleep  in  one  another's  arms,  and  dream 

Of  waves,  flowers,  clouds,  woods,  rocks,  and  all  that  we 

Read  in  their  smiles,  and  call  reality. 

This  isle  and  house  are  mine,  and  I  have  vowed 
Thee  to  be  lady  of  the  solitude. — 
And  I  have  fitted  up  some  chambers  there 
Looking  towards  the  golden  Eastern  air, 
And  level  with  the  living  winds,  which  flow 
Like  waves' above  the  living  waves  below. — 
I  have  sent  books  and  music  there,  and  all 
Those  instruments  with  which  high  spirits  call 
The  future  from  its  cradle,  and  the  past 
Out  of  its  grave,  and  make  the  present  last 
In  thoughts  and  joys  which  sleep,  but  cannot  die, 
Folded  within  their  own  eternity. 
Our  simple  life  wants  little,  and  true  taste 
Hires  not  the  pale  drudge  Luxury  to  waste 
The  scene  it  would  adorn,  and  therefore  still, 
Nature,  with  all  her  children,  haunts  the  hill, 
The  ring-dove,  in  the  embowering  ivy,  yet 
Keeps  up  her  love-lament,  and  the  owls  flit 
Round  the  evening  tower,  and  the  young  stars  glance 
Between  the  quick  bats  in  their  twilight  dance ; 
The  spotted  deer  bask  in  the  fresh  moonlight 
Before  our  gate,  and  the  slow  silent  night 
Is  measured  by  the  pants  of  their  calm  sleep. 
Be  this  our  home  in  life,  and  when  years  heap 
Their  withered  hours,  like  leaves,  on  our  decay, 
Let  us  become  the  overhanging  day, 
The  living  soul  of  this  Elysian  isle, 
Conscious,  inseparable,  one.     Meanwhile 
We  two  will  rise,  and  sit,  and  walk  together, 
Under  the  roof  of  blue  Ionian  weather, 
And  wander  in  the  meadows,  or  ascend 
The  mossy  mountains,  where  the  blue  heavens  bend 
With  lightest  winds,  to  touch  their  paramour ; 
Or  linger,  where  the  pebble-paven  shore, 
Under  the  quick,  faint  kisses  of  the  sea 
Trembles  and  sparkles  as  with  ecstasy, — 
Possessing  and  possest  by  all  that  is 
Within  that  calm  circumference  of  bliss, 
And  by  each  other,  till  to  love  and  live 
Be  one : — or,  at  the  noontide  hour,  arrive 
Where  some  old  cavern  hoar  seems  yet  to  keep 
The  moonlight  of  the  expired  night  asleep, 
Through  which  the  awakened  day  can  never  peep: 
A  veil  for  our  seclusion,  close  as  Night's, 
Where  secure  sleep  may  kill  thine  innocent  lights ; 


344  EPIPSYCHIDION. 

Sleep,  the  fresh  dew  of  languid  love,  the  rain 

Whose  drops  quench  kisses  till  they  burn  again. 

And  we  will  talk,  until  thought's  melody 

Become  too  sweet  for  utterance,  and  it  die 

In  words,  to  live  again  in  looks,  whicn  dart 

With  thrilling  tone  into  the  voiceless  heart 

Harmonizing  silence  without  a  sound. 

Our  breath  shall  intermix,  our  bosoms  bound, 

And  our  veins  beat  together  ;  and  our  lips, 

With  other  eloquence  than  words,  eclipse 

The  soul  that  burns  between  them,  and  the  wells 

Which  boil  under  our  being's  inmost  cells, 

The  fountains  of  our  deepest  life,  shall  be 

Confused  in  passion's  golden  purity, 

As  mountain-springs  under  the  morning  Sun. 

We  shall  become  the  same,  we  shall  be  one 

Spirit  within  two  frames,  oh  !  wherefore  two  ? 

One  passion  in  twin-hearts,  which  grows  and  grevr, 

Till,  like  two  meteors  of  expanding  flame, 

Those  spheres  instinct  with  it  become  the  same 

Touch,  mingle,  are  transfigured  ;  ever  still 

Burning,  yet  ever  inconsumable : 

Jn  one  another's  substance  finding  food, 

Like  flames  too  pure  and  light  and  unimbued 

To  nourish  their  bright  lives  with  baser  Drey, 

Which  point  to  Heaven  ana  cannot  pass  away  : 

One  hope  within  two  wills,  one  will  beneath 

Two  overshadowing  minds,  one  life,  one  death, 

One  Heaven,  on-e  Hell,  one  immortality, 

And  one  annihilation.     Woe  is  me! 

The  winged  words  on  which  my  soul  would  pierce 

Into  the  height  of  love's  rare  Universe, 

Are  chains  of  lead  around  its  flight  of  fire. — 

I  pant,  I  sink,  I  tremble,  I  expire  ! 

Weak  verses,  go,  kneel  at  your  Sovereign's  feet, 
And  say  :— "  We  are  the  mnsters  of  thy  slave: 
What  wouldest  thou  with  us  and  ours  and  thine  1" 
Then  call  your  sisters  from  Oblivion's  cave, 
All  singing  loud :  "  Love's  very  pain  is  sweet 
But  its  reward  is  in  the  world  divine, 
Which,  if  not  here,  it  builds  beyond  the  grave. 
So  shall  ye  live  when  I  am  there.     Then  haste 
Over  the  hearts  of  men,  until  ye  meet 
Marina,  Vanna,  Primus,  and  the  rest, 
And  bid  them  love  each  other  and  be  blest 
And  leave  the  troop  which  errs,  apd  which  reproves. 
And  come  and  be  my  guest, — for  I  am  Love's. 

ENP    OF    EPIPSYCHIDION. 


3*5 


ADONAIS, 


AN  ELEGY  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  JOHN  KKATS. 


I  weep  for  Adonais — he  is  dead  ! 
Oh,  weep  for  Adonais  !  though  our  tears 
Thaw  not  the  frost  which  binds  so  dear  a  head ! 
And  thou,  sad  Hour,  selected  from  all  years 
To  mourn  our  loss,  rouse  thy  obscure  compeers, 
And  teacli  them  thine  own  sorrow  ;  say:  with  mo 
Died  Adonais ! — till  the  Future  dares 
Forget  the  Past,  his  fate  and  fame  shall  be 
An  echo  and  a  light  unto  eternity ! 

Where  wert  thou,  mighty  Mother,  when  he  lay, 

When  thy  Son  lay,  pierced  by  the  shaft  which  flies 

In  darkness  ?  where  was  lorn  Urania 

When  Adonais  died  ?     With  veiled  eyes, 

'Mid  listening  Echoes,  in  her  Paradise 

She  sate,  while  one,  with  soft  enamoured  breath, 

Rekindled  all  the  fading  melodies, 

With  which,  like  flowers  that  mock  the  corse  beneath 

He  had  adorned  and  hid  the  coming  bulk  of  death. 

Oh,  weep  for  Adonais — he  is  dead ! 
Wake,  melancholy  Mother,  wake  and  weep  ! 
Yet  wherefore  ?  Quench  within  their  burning  bed 
Thy  fiery  tears,  and  let  thy  loud  heart  keep, 
Like  his,  a  mute  and  uncomplaining  sleep  ; 
For  he  is  gone,  where  all  things  wise  and  fair 
Descend : — oh,  dream  not  that  the  amorous  Deep 
Will  yet  restore  him  to  the  vital  air; 
Death  feeds  on  his  mute  voice,  and  laughs  at  our  despair. 

Most  musical  of  mourners,  weep  again ! 
Lament  anew,  Urania ! — He  died. 
Who  was  the  Sire  of  an  immortal  strain, 
Blind,  old,  and  lonely,  when  his  country's  pride. 
The  priest,  {5a  slave,  and  the  liberticide, 
Trampled  and  mocked  with  many  a  loathed  rite 
Of  lust  and  blood  ;  he  went,  nnterrified, 
Into  the  gulph  of  death  ;  but  his  clear  Sprite 
Yet  reigns  o'er  earth  ;  the  third  among  the  sons  of  light. 


34G  ADONAIS. 

Most  musical  of  mourners,  weep  anew! 
Not  all  to  that  bright  station  dared  to  climb  ; 
And  happier  they  their  happiness  who  knew, 
Whose  tapers  yet  burn  through  that  night  of  time 
In  which  suns  perished  :  others  more  sublime, 
Struck  by  the  envious  wrath  of  man  or  God, 
Have  sunk,  extinct  in  their  refulgent  prime  ; 
And  some  yet  live,  treading  the  thorny  road, 
Which  leads,  through  toil  and  hate,  to  Fame's  serene  abode. 

But  now  thy  youngest,  dearest  one  has  perished, 
The  nursling  of  thy  widowhood,  who  grew, 
Like  a  pale  Mower  by  some  sad  maiden  cherished, 
And  fed  with  true-love  tears,  instead  of  dew ; 
Most  musical  of  mourners,  weep  anew  ! 
Thy  extreme  hope,  the  loveliest  and  the  last, 
The  bloom,  whose  petals  nipt  before  they  blew 
Died  on  the  promise  of  the  fruit,  is  waste, 
The  broken  lilly  lies — the  storm  is  overpast. 

To  that  high  Capital,  where  kingly  Death 
Keeps  his  pale  court  in  beauty  and  decay, 
He  came  ;  and  bought,  with  price  of  purest  breath, 
A  grave  among  the  eternal. — Come  away  ! 
Haste,  while  the  vault  ot  blue  Italian  day 
Is  yet  his  fitting  charnel-roof !  while  still 
He  lies,  as  if  in  dewy  sleep  he  lav; 
Awake  him  not!   surely  he  takes  his. fill 
Of  deep  and  liquid  rest,  forgetful  of  all  ill. 

He  will  awake  no  more,  oh,  never  more ! 
Within  the  twilight  chamber  .spreads  apace 
The  shadow  of  white  Death,  and  at  the  door 
Invisible  Corruption  waits  to  trace 
His  extreme  way  to  her  dim  dwelling-place; 
The  eternal  Hunger  sits,  but  pity  and  awe 
Soothe  her  pale  rage,  nor  dares  she  to  deface 
So  fair  a  prey,  till  darkness,  and  the  law 
Of  change,  shall  o'er  his  sleep  the  mortal  curtain  draw. 

Oh,  weep  for  Adonais! — The  quick  Dreams, 
The  passion-winged  Ministers  of  thought, 
Who  were  his  flocks,  whom  near  the  living  streams 
Of  his  young  spirit  he  fed,  and  whom  he  taught 
The  love  which  was  its  music,  wander  not, — 
Wander  no  more,  from  kindling  brain  to  brain, 
But  droop  there,  whence  they  sprung  ;  and  mourn  their  lot 
Round  the  cold  heart,  where,  after  their  sweet  pain, 
They  ne'er  will  gather  strength,  nor  find  a  home  again. 


ADONAIS.  347 

And  one  with  trembling  hand  clasps  his  cold  head, 
And  fans  him  with  her  moonlight  wings,  and  cries, 
"  Our  love,  our  hope,  our  sorrow,  is  not  dead  : 
See,  on  the  silken  fringe  of  his  faint  eyes, 
Like  dew  upon  a  sleeping  flower,  there  lies 
A  tear  some  Dream  has  loosened  from  his  brain," 
Lost  Angel  of  a  ruined  Paradise, 
She  knew  not  'twas  her  own  ;  as  with  no  stain 
She  faded,  like  a  cloud  which  had  outwept  its  rain. 

One  from  a  lucid  urn  of  starry  dew 
Wash'd  his  light  limbs,  as  if  embalming  them ; 
Another  dipt  her  profuse  locks,  and  threw 
The  wreath  upon  him,  like  an  anadem, 
Y»  hich  frozen  tears  instead  of  pearls  begem  ; 
Another  in  her  wilful  grief  would  break 
Her  bow  and  winged  reeds,  as  if  to  stem 
A  greater  loss  with  one  which  was  more  weak  ; 
And  dull  the  barbed  fire  against  his  frozen  cheek. 

Another  Splendour  on  his  mouth  alit, 
That  mouth,  whence  it  was  wont  to  draw  the  breath 
Which  gave  it  strength  to  pierce  the  guarded  wit, 
And  pass  into  the  panting  heart  beneath 
With  lightning  and  with  music  :  the  damp  death 
Quench'd  its  caress  upon  its  icy  lips; 
And,  as  a  dying  meteor  stains  s  wreath 
Of  moonlight  vapour,  which  the  cold  night  clips, 
It  flushed,  through  his  pale  limbs,  and  pass'd  to  its  eclipse. 

And  others  came, — Desires  and  Adorations, 
Winged  Persuasions  and  veiled  Destinies, 
Splendours,  and  Glooms,  and  glimmering  Incarnations 
Of  hopes  and  fears,  and  twilight  Phantasies  ; 
And  Sorrow,  with  her  family  of  Sighs, 
And  Pleasure,  blind  with  tears,  led  by  the  gleam 
Of  her  own  dying  smile  instead  of  eyes, 
Came  in  slow  pomp  : — the  moving  pomp  might  seem 
Like  p*igeantry  oi'mist  on  an  autumnal  stream. 

All  he  had  loved,  and  moulded  into  thought, 
From  shape,  and  hue,  and  odour,  and  sweet  sound, 
Lamented  Adonais.     Morning  sought 
Her  eastern  watch-tower,  and  her  hair  unbound, 
Wet  with  the  tears  which  should  adorn  the  ground, 
Dimmed  the  aerial  eyes  that  kindle  day: 
Afar  the  melancholy  thunder  moaned, 
Pale  Ocean  in  unquiet  slumber  lay, 
And  the  wild  winds  flew  around,  sobbing  in  their  dismay 


348  ADONAIS. 

Lost  Echo  sits  amid  the  voiceless  mountains, 
And  feeds  her  grief  with  his  remembered  lay, 
And  will  no  more  reply  to  winds  or  fountains, 
Or  amorous  birds  perched  on  the  young  green  spray 
Or  herdsman's  horn,  or  bell  at  closing  day  ; 
Since  she  can  mimic  not  his  Jips,  more  dear 
Than  those  for  whose  disdain  they  pined  away 
Into  a  shadow  of  all  so.mds  : — a  drear 
Murmur,  between  their  songs,  is  all  the  woodmen  hear. 

Grief  made  the  young  Spring  wild,  and  she  threw  down 
Her  kindling  buds,  as  if  she  Autumn  were, 
Or  they  dead  leaves;  since  her  delight  is  flown, 
For  whom  should  she  have  waked  the  sullen  year? 
To  Phoebus  was  not  Hyacinth  so  dear, 
Nor  to  himself  Narcissus,  as  to  both 
Thou  Adonais  ;  wan  they  stand  and  sere 
Amid  the  faint  companions  of  their  youth, 
With  dew  all  turned  to  tears ;  odour,  to  sighing  ruth. 

Thy  spirit's  sister,  the  lorn  nightingale, 
Mourns  not  her  mate  with  such  melodious  pain  ; 
Not  so  the  eagle,  who  like  thee  could  scale 
Heaven,  and  could  nourish  in  the  sun's  domain 
Her  mighty  youth  with  morning,  doth  complain, 
Soaring  and  screaming  round  her  empty  nest, 
As  Albion  wails  for  thee  :  the  curse  of  Cain 
Light  on  his  head  who  pierced  thy  innocent  breast 
And  scared  the  angel  soul  that  was  its  earthly  guest ! 

Ah,  woe  is  me!     Winter  is  come  and  gone, 
But  grief  returns  with  the  revolving  year; 
The  airs  and  streams  renew  their  joyous  tone  ; 
The  ants,  the  bees,  the  swallows,  re-appear ; 
Fresh  leaves  and  flowers  deck  the  dead  Season's  bier; 
The  amorous  birds  now  pair  in  every  brake, 
And  build  their  mossy  homos  in  field  and  brere ; 
And  the  green  lizard,  and  the  golden  snake, 
Like  unimprisoned  flames,  out  of  their  trance  awake. 

Through  wood,  and  stream,  and  field,  and  hill,  and  Ocean, 
A  quickening  life  from  the  Earth's  heart  has  burst, 
As  it  has  ever  done,  with  change  and  motion, 
From  the  great  morning  of  the  world,  when  first 
God  dawn'd  on  Chaos;  in  its  stream  immersed, 
The  lamps  of  Heaven  flash  with  a  softer  light; 
All  baser  things  pant  with  life's  sacred  thirst; 
Diffuse  themselves;  and  spend  in  love's  delight 
The  beauty  and  the  joy  of  their  renewed  might. 


AD0NA1S.  b4<J 

The  leprous  corpse,  touched  hy  this  spirit  tender, 
Exhales  itself  in  flowers  of  gentle  breath  ; 
Like  incarnations  of  the  stars  when  splendour 
Is  changed  to  fragrance,  they  illumine  death, 
And  mock  the  merry  worm  that  wakes  beneath  ; 
Nought  we  know  dies.     Shall  that  alone  which  knows 
Be  as  a  sword  consumed  before  the  sheath 
By  sightless  lightning? — th'  intense  atom  glows 
A  moment,  then  is  Cjuench'd  in  a  most  cold  repose. 

Alas  !   that  all  we  loved  of  him  should  be 
But  for  our  grief,  as  if  it  had  not  been, 
And  grief  itself  be  mortal !     Woe  is  me  ! 
\\  hence  are  we,  and  why  are  we  ?  of  what  scene — 
The  actors  or  spectators  ?   Great  and  mean 
Meet  massed  in  death,  who  lends  what  life  must  borrow. 
As  long  as  skies  are  blue,  and  fields  are  green, 
Evening  must  usher  night,  night  urge  the  morrow, 
Month  follow  month  with  woe,  and  year  wake  year  to  sorrow. 

He  will  awake  no  more,  oh,  never  more! 
"  Wake  thou,"  cried  Misery,  "  child  Ws  Mother,  rise 
Out  of  thy  sleep,  and  slake,  in  thy  heart's  core, 
A  wound  more  fierce  than  his  tears  aoH  «:ghs." 
And  all  the  Dreams  that  watch'd  Urania's  eyes, 
And  all  the  Echoes  whom  their  sister's  song 
Had  held  in  holy  silence,  cried;    "  Arise  !" 
Swift  as  a  Thought  by  the  snake  Memory  stung, 
From  her  ambrosial  rest  the  fading  Splendour  sprung. 

She  rose  like  an  autumnal  Night  that  springs 
Out  of  the  East,  and  follows  wild  and  drear 
The  golden  Day,  which,  on  eternal  wings, 
Even  as  a  ghost  abandoning  a  bier, 
Has  left  the  Earth  a  corpse.     Sorrow  and  fear 
So  struck,  so  roused,  so  rapt,  Urania; 
So  saddened  round  her  like  an  atmosphere 
Of  stormy  mist ;   so  swept  her  en  her  way, 
Even  to  the  mournful  place  where  Adonais  lay. 

Out  of  her  secret  Paradise  she  sped. 
Through  camps  and  cities  rough  with  »■"■.-■>,",<-  and  steel, 
And  human  hearts,  which  to  her  aery  thread 
Yielding  not,  wounded  the  invisible 
Palms  of  her  tender  feet  where'er  they  fell : 
And  barbed  tongues,  and  thoughts  more  sharp  than  they, 
Rent  the  soft  Form  they  never  could  repel, 
Whose  sacred  blood,  like  the  young  tears  of  May, 
Paved  with  eternal  flowers  that  undeserving  way. 


350  ADONAIS. 

In  the  death-ciidiober  for  a  moment  Death, 
Shamed  by  the  presence  of  that  living  Might, 
Blush 'd  to  annihilation,  and  the  breath 
Revisited  those  lips,  and  life's  pale  light 
Flashed  through  these  limbs,  so  late  her  dear  delight 
"  Leave  me  not  wild  and  drear  and  comfortless, 
As  silent  lightning  leaves  the  starless  night  ! 
Leave  me  not !"  cried  Urania  ;  her  distress 
Roused  Death' :  Death  rose  and  smiled,  and  met  her  vain  caress, 

"  Stay  yet  a  while  !  speak  to  me  once  again : 
Kiss  me,  so  long  but  as  a  kiss  may  live ; 
And  in  my  heartless  breast  and  burning  brain 
That  word,  that  kiss  shall  all  thoughts  else  survive, 
With  food  of  saddest  memory  kept  alive, 
Now  thou  art  dead,  as  if  it  were  a  part 
Of  thee,  my  Adonais  !     I  would  give 
All  that  I  am  to  be  as  thou  now  art, 
But  I  am  chained  to  Time,  and  cannot  thence  depart ! 

"  O  gentle  child,  beautiful  as  thou  wert, 
Why  didst  thou  leave  the  trodden  paths  of  men 
Too  soon,  and  with  weak  hands  though  mighty  heart 
Dare  the  unpastured  dragon  in  his  den  ? 
Defenceless  as  thou  wert,  oh  !  where  was  then 
Wisdom  the  mirror'd  shield,  or  scorn  the  spear  ? 
Or  hadst  thou  waited  the  full  cycle,  when 
Thy  spirit  should  have  filled  its  crescent  sphere, 
The  monsters  of  life's  waste  had  fled  from  thee  like  deer. 

"  The  herded  wolves,  bold  only  to  pursue  ; 
The  obscene  ravens,  clamorous  o'er  the  dead  ; 
The  vultures,  to  the  conqueror's  banner  true, 
Who  feed  where  Desolation  firs-t  has  fed, 
And  whose  wings  rain  contagion  ; — how  they  lied, 
When,  like  Appollo,  from  his  golden  bow, 
The  Pythian  of  the  age  one  arrow  sped 
And  smiled  ! — The  spoilers  tempt  no  second  blow, 
They  fawn  on  the  proud  feet  that  spurn  them  lying  low, 

"  The  sun  comes  forth,  and  many  reptiles  spawn  ; 
He  sets,  and  each  ephemeral  insect  then 
Is  gathered  into  death  without  a  dawn, 
And  the  immortal  stars  awake  again  ; 
So  it  is  in  the  world  of  living  men. 
A  godlike  mind  soars  forth,  in  its  delight 
Making  earth  bare  and  veiling  heaven,  and  when 
It  sinks,  the  swarms  that  dimmed  or  shared  its  light 
Leave  to  its  kindred  lamps  the  spirit's  awful  night." 


ADONAIS.  ;5J 

Thus  ceased  she  :   and  the  mountain  shepherds  fame, 
Their  garlands  sere,  their  magic  mantles  rent  ; 
The  Pilgrim  of  Eternity,  whose  fume 
Over  his  living  head  like  Heaven  is  bent, 
An  early  but  enduring  monument, 
Came,  veiling  all  the  lightnings  of  his  song 
In  sorrow;  from  her  wilds  Iernesent 
The  sweetest  lyrist  of  her  saddest  wrong, 
And  love  taught  grief  to  fall  like  music  from  his  tongue. 

'Midst  others  of  less  note  came  one  frail  Form, 
A  Phantom  among  men,  companionless 
As  the  last  cloud  of  an  expiring  storm, 
Whose  thunder  is  its  knell ;  he  as  1  guess, 
Had  gazed  on  Nature's  naked  loveliness, 
Actaeon-like,  and  now  he  fled  astray 
With  feeble  steps  o'er  the  world's  wilderness, 
And  his  own  thoughts,  along  that  rugged  way, 
Pursued,  like  raging  hounds  their  father  and  their  prey. 

A  pard-like  Spirit  beautiful  and  swift — 
A  Love  in  desolation  masked  ; — a  Power 
Girt  round  with  weakness; — it  can  scare  uplift 
The  weight  of  the  superincumbent  hour  ; 
It  is  a  dying  lamp,  a  falling  shower, 
A  breaking  billow  ; — even  whilst  we  speak 
.Is  it  not  broken  ?     On  the  withering  flower 
The  killing  sun  smiles  brightly  :  on  a  cheek 
The  life  can  burn  in  blood,  even  while  the  heart  may  break. 

His  head  was  bound  with  pansies  o-'er-blown, 
And  faded  violets,  white,  and  pied,  and  blue; 
And  a  light  spear  topped  with  a  cypress  cone, 
Round  whose  rude  shaft  dark  ivy-tresses  grew, 
Yet  dripping  with  the  forest's  noonday  dew, 
Vibrated,  as  the  ever-beating  heart 
Shook  the  weak  hand  that  grasp'd  it ;  of  that  crew 
He  came  the  last;  neglected  and  apart; 
A  herd-abandon'd  deer,  struck  by  the  hunter's  dart. 

All  stood  aloof,  and  at  his  partial  moan 
Smiled  through  their  tears;  well  knew  that  gentle  band 
Who  in  another's  fate  now  wept  his  own; 
As  in  the  the  accents  of  an  unknown  land 
He  sang  new  sorrow  ;  sad  Urania  scanned 
The  Stranger's  mien,  and  murmured  ;    •'  Who  art  thou  ?" 
He  answered  not,  but  with  a  sudden  hand 
Made  bare  his  branded  and  ensanguined  brow, 
Which  was  like  Cain's  or  Christ's. — Oh  !  that  it  should  he  sol 


352  AOONAIS. 

What  softer  voice  is  hushed  over  the  dead  ? 
Athwart  what  brow  is  that  dark  mantle  thrown  ? 
What  form  leans  sadly  o'er  the  white  death-bed, 
In  mockery  of  monumental  stone, 
The  heavy  heart  heaving  without  a  moan  ? 
If  it  be  He,  who,  gentlest  of  the  wise, 
Taught,  soothed,  loved,  honored  the  departed  one : 
Let  me  not  vex,  with  inharmonious  sighs, 
The  silence  of  that  heart's  accepted  sacrifice. 

Our  Adonais  has  drunk  poison — oh  ! 
What  deaf  and  viperous  murderer  could  crown 
Life's  early  cup  with  such  a  draught  of  woe  ? 
The  nameless  worm  would  now  itself  disown  : 
It  felt,  yet  could  escape  the  magic  tone 
Whose  prelude  held  all  envy,  hate,  and  wrong, 
But  what  was  howling  in  one  breast  alone, 
Silent  with  expectation  of  the  song, 
Whose  master's  hand  is  cold,  whose  silver  lyre  unstrung. 

Live  thou,  whose  infamy  is  not  thy  fame ! 
Live  !  fear  no  heavier  chastisement  from  me, 
Thou  noteless  blot  on  a  remembered  name  ! 
But  be  thyself,  and  know  thyself  to  be ! 
And  ever  at  thy  season  be  thou  free 
To  spill  the  venom  when  thy  fangs  o'erflow : 
Remorse  and  Self-contempt  shall  cling  to  thee  ; 
Hot  Shame  shall  burn  upon  thy  secret  brow, 
And  like  a  beaten  hound  tremble  thou  shalt — as  now 

Nor  let  us  weep  that  our  delight  is  fled 
Far  from  these  carrion-kites  that  scream  below  ; 
He  wakes  or  sleeps  with  the  enduring  dead  ; 
Thou  canst  nor  soar  where  he  is  sitting  now. — 
Dust  to  the  dust !  but  the  pure  spirit  shall  flow 
Back  to  the  burning  fountain  whence  it  came, 
A  portion  of  the  Eternal,  which  must  glow 
Through  time  and  change,  unquenchably  the  same, 
Whilst  thy  cold  embers  choke  the  sordid  hearth  of  shame. 

Peace,  peace !  he  is  not  dead,  he  doth  not  sleep — 
He  hath  awakened  from  the  dream  of  life — 
'Tis  we,  who,  lost  in  stormy  visions,  keep 
With  phantoms  an  unprofitable  strife, 
And  in  mad  trance  strike  with  our  spirit's  knife 
Invulnerable  nothings — We  decay 
Like  corpses  in  a  charnel ;   fear  and  grief 
Convulse  us  and  consume  us  day  by  day, 
And  cold  hopes  swarm  like  worms  within  our  living  clay. 


A  DON  A  IS.  ii 

He  has  outsoarred  the  shadow  of  our  night; 
Envy  sad  calumny,  and  hate  and  pain, 
And  tBat  unrest  which  men  miscall  delight, 
Can  touch  him  not  and  torture  not  again 
From  the  contagion  of  the  world's  slow  stain 
He  is  secure,  and  now  can  never  mourn 
A  heart  grown  cold,  a  head  grown  grey  in  vain; 
Nor,  when  the  spirit's  self  has  ceased  to  burn, 
With  sparkless  ashes  load  an  unlamented  urn. 

He  lives,  he  wakes — 'tis  Death  is  dead,  not  he  ; 
Mourn  not  for  Adonais, — Thou  young  Dawn, 
Turn  all  thy  dew  to  splendour,  for  from  thee 
The  spirit  thou  lamentest  is  not  gone  ; 
Ye  caverns  and  ye  forests,  cease  to  moan ! 
Cease  ye  faint  flowers  and  fountains,  and  thou  Air, 
Which  like  a  mouring  veil  thy  scarf  hardst  thrown 
O'er  the  abandon'd  Earth,  now  leave  it  bare 
Even  to  the  joyous  stars  which  smile  on  its  deJpair. 

He  is  made  one  with  Nature :  there  is  heard 
His  voice  in  all  her  music,  from  the  moan 
Of  thunder  to  the  song  of  night's  sweet  bird  ; 
He  is  a  presence  to  be  felt  and  known 
In  darkness  and  in  light,  from  herb  and  stone, 
Spreading  itself  where'er  that  Power  may  move 
Which  has  withdrawn  his  being  to  its  own ; 
Which  wields  the  world  with  never-wearied  love, 
Sustains  it  from  beneath,  and  kindles  it  above. 

He  is  a  portion  of  the  loveliness 
Which  once  he  made  more  lovely  :  he  doth  bear 
His  part,  while  the  one  Spirit's  plastic  stress 
Sweeps  through  the  dull  dense  world,  compelling  there 
All  new  successions  to  the  forms  they  wear : 
Torturing  th'  unwilling  dross  that  checks  its  flight 
To  its  own  likeness,  as  each  mass  may  bear  ; 
And  bursting  in  its  beauty  and  its  might 
From  trees  and  beasts  and  men  into  the  Heavens'  light. 

The  splendours  of  the  firmament  of  time 
May  be  eclipsed,  but  are  extinguished  not ; 
Like  stars  to  their  appointed  height  they  climb, 
And  death  is  a  low  mist  which  cannot  blot 
The  brightness  it  may  veil.     When  lofty  thought 
Lifts  a  young  heart  above  its  mortal  lair, 
And  love  and  life  contend  in  it,  for  what 
Shall  be  its  earthly  doom,  the  dead  live  there, 
And  move  like  winds  of  light  on  dark  and  stormy  air. 


354  ADONAIS. 

The  inheritors  of  unfulnll'd  renown 
Rose  from  their  thrones,  built  beyond  mortal  thought, 
Far  in  the  Unapparent.     Chatterton 
Rose  pale,  his  solemn  agony  had  not 
Yet  faded  from  him  ;  Sidney,  as  he  fought 
And  as  he  fell,  and  as  he  lived  and  loved, 
Sublimely  mild,  a  Spirit  without  spot, 
Arose  ;  and  Lucan,  by  his  death  approved  : 
Oblivion  as  they  rose  shrank  like  a  thing  reproved. 

And  many  more,  whose  names  on  Earth  are  dark, 
But  whose  transmitted  effluence  cannot  die 
So  long  as  fire  outlives  the  parent  spark,' 
Rose,  robed  in  dazzling  immortality. 
"  Thou  art  become  as  one  of  us,"  they  cry  : 
"  It  was  for  thee  yon  kingless  sphere  has  long 
Swung  blind  in  unascended  majesty, 
Silent  alone  amid  a  Heaven  of  Song. 
Assume  thy  winged  throne,  thou  Vesper  of  our  throng!" 

Who  mourns  for  Adonais  ?  oh,  come  forth, 
Fond  wretch  !  and  know  thyself  and  him  aright. 
Clasp  with  thy  panting  soul  the  pendulous  Earth  ; 
As  from  a  centre,  dart  thy  spirit's  light 
Beyond  all  worlds,  until  its  spacious  might 
Satiate  the  void  circumference :   then  shrink 
Even  to  a  point  within  our  day  and  night ; 
And  keep  thy  heart  light,  lest  it  make  thee  sink 
When  hope  has  kindled  hope,  and  lured  thee  to  the  brink. 

Or  go  to  Rome,  which  is  the  sepulchre, 
Oh,  not  of  him,  but  of  our  joy  :  'tis  nought 
That  ages,  empires,  and  religions,  there 
Lie  buried  in  the  ravage  they  have  wrought ; 
For  such  as  he  can  lend, — they  borrow  not 
Glory  from  those  who  made  the  world  their  prey ; 
And  he  is  gathered  to  the  kings  of  thought, 
Who  waged  contention  with  their  time's  decay, 
And  of  the  past  are  all  that  cannot  pass  away. 

Go  thou  to  Rome, — at  once  the  Paradise, 
The  grave,  the  city,  and  the  wilderness  : 
And  where  its  wrecks  like  shatter'd  mountains  rise, 
And  flowering  weeds,  and  fragrant  copses,  dress 
The  bones  of  Desolation's  nakedness, 
I'ass,  till  the  Spirit  of  the  spot  shall  lead 
Thy  footsteps  to  a  slope  of  green  access, 
Where,  like  an  infant's  smile,  over  the  dead 
A  light  of  laughing  flowers  along  the  grass  is  spread, 


ADONAIS.  355 

And  grey  walls  moulder  round,  on  which  dull  Time 
Feeds,  like  slow  fire  upon  ?.  hoary  brand; 
And  one  keen  pyramid,  with  wedge  sublime, 
Pavilioning  the  dust  of  him  who  planned 
This  refuge  for  his  memory,  doth  stand 
Like  flame  transform 'd  to  marble  ;  and  beneath 
A  field  is  spread,  on  which  a  newer  band 
Have  pitched  in  Heaven's  smile  their  camp  of  death, 
Welcoming  him  we  lose  with  scarce  extinguish'd  breath. 

Here  pause  :  these  graves  are  all  too  young  as  yet, 
To  have  outgrown  the  sorrow  which  consign'd 
Its  charge  to  each  ;  and  if  the  seal  is  set, 
Here,  on  one  fountain  of  a  mourning  mind, 
Break  it  not  thou  !  too  surely  shalt  thou  find 
Thine  own  well  full,  if  thou  returnest  home, 
Of  tears  and  gall.     From  the  world's  bitter  wind 
Seek  shelter  in  the  shadow  of  the  tomb. 
What  Adonais  is,  why  fear  we  to  become  ? 

TliejOye  remains,  the  many  change  and  pass  ; 
Heaven's  light  for  ever  shines,  Earth's  shadows  fly  ; 
tile,  like  a  dome  oFmany-colour'd  glass, 
STaiTis  the  white  radiance  of  Eternity, 
Until  Death  tramples  it  to  fragments. — Die, 
If  thou  wouldst  be  with  that  which  thou  dost  seek ; 
Follow  where  all  is  fled ! — Rome's  azure  sky, 
Flowers,  ruins,  statues,  music,  words,  are  weak, 
The  glory  they  transfuse  with  fitting  truth  to  speak. 

Why  linger,  why  turn  back,  why  shrink,  my  Heart 
Thy  hopes  are  gone  before  :  from  all  things  here 
They  have  departed  ;  thou  shouldst  now  depart ! 
A  light  is  passed  from  the  revolving  year, 
And  man,  and  woman  ;  and  what  still  is  dear 
Attracts  to  crush,  repels  to  make  thee  wither. 
The  soft  sky  smiles — the  low  wind  whispers  near — 
'Tis  Adonais  calls  !  oh,  hasten  thither, 
No "more~Tet  Life  divide  what  Death  can  join  together. 

That  Light  whose  smile  kindles  the  Universe, 
That  Beauty  in  which  all  things  work  and  move , 
That  Benediction  which  the  eclipsing  Curse 
Of  birth  can  quench  not,  that  sustaining;  Love 
Which,  through  the  web  of  being  blindly  wove 
By  man  and  beast,  and  earth,  and  air,  and  sea, 
Burns  bright  or  dim,  as  each  are  mirrors  of 
The  fire  for  which  all  thirst,  now  beams  on  me, 
Consuming  the  last  clouds  of  cold  mortality. 
31 


356  ADONAIS. 


Tlip  hrenfli  whnsp  might  I  ka.V£_L™ 
Descends  onjne  ;  my  spirit's  bark  is  driven  ^^^^X 

Far  from  the  shore,  far  from  the  trembling  throng 
Whose  sails  were  never  to  the  tempest  given  ; 
The  massy  earth  and  sphered  skies  are  riven  ! 
I  am  borne  darkly,  fearfully,  afar  ; 
Whilst  burning  through  the  inmost  veil  of  Heaven 
The  soul  of  Adonais,  like  a  star, 
Beacons  from  the  abode  where  the  Eternal  are. 


8«0  OF   Mi'JUtiH, 


857 


HELLAS; 
A  LYRICAL  DRAMA. 

DRAMATIS   PERSONS. 

Mahmud.  Daood. 

Hassan.  Aiiasuerus,  a  Jew. 

Chorus  of  Greek  Captive  Women. 

Messengers,  Slaves,  and  Attendants. 

Scene — Constantinople.  Time — Sunset. 

Scene — A  Terrace  on  the  Seraglio. 

Mahmud  (sleeping),  an  Indian  Slave  sitting  beside  his  Couch 

Chorus  of  Greek  Captive  Women. 

We  strew  these  opiate  flowers 

On  thy  restless  pillow, — 
They  were  stript  from  Orient  bowers 
By  the  Indian  billow. 
Be  thy  sleep 
Calm  and  deep, 
Like  theirs  who  fell— not  ours  who  weep! 
Indian.     Away,  unlovely  dreams  ! 

Away,  false  shapes  of  sleep. 
Be  his,  as  heaven  seems, 

Clear,  and  bright,  and  deep  ! 
Soft  as  love,  and  calm  as  death, 
Sweet  as  a  summer  night  without  a  breath. 
Chorus.    Sleep,  sleep,    our  song  is  laden 
With  the  soul  of  slumber: 
It  was  sung  by  a  Samian  maiden, 
Whose  lover  was  of  the  number 
Who  now  keep 
That  calm  sleep 
Whence  none  may  wake,  where  none  shall  weep 


358  HELLAS, 

Indian.     I  touch  thy  temples  pale  ! 

I  breathe  my  soul  on  thee ! 
And,  could  my  prayers  avail, 
All  my  joy  should  be 
Dead,  and  I  would  live  to  weep, 
So  thou  might'st  win  one  hour  of  quiet  sleep. 
Chorus.  Breathe  low,  low, 

The  spell  of  the  mighty  mistress  now! 
When  Conscience  lulls  her  sated  snake, 
And  Tyrants  sleep,  let  Freedom  wake. 
Breathe  low,  low, 
The  words,  which,  like  secret  fire,  shall  flow 
Through  the  veins  of  the  frozen  earth — low,  low  I 
Semicho.  I.  Life  may  change,  but  it  may  fly  not  ; 
Hope  may  vanish,  but  can  die  not ; 
Truth  be  veiled,  but  still  it  burnetii  ; 
Love  repulsed, — but  it  returneth  ! 
Semi.  II.  Yet  were  life  a  charnel,  where 
Hope  lay  coffined  with  despair; 
Yet  were  truth  a  sacred  lie, 
Love  were  lust — 
Semi.   I.  If  Liberty 

Lent  not  life  its  soul  of  light, 
Hope  its  iris  of  delight, 
Truth  its  prophet's  robe  to  wear, 
Love  its  power  to  give  and  bear. 
Chorus.     In  the  great  morning  of  the  world, 

The  spirit  of  God  with  might  unfurled 
The  flag  of  Freedom  over  Chaos, 

And  all  its  banded  anarchs  fled, 
Like  vultures  frighted  from  Imaus, 
Before  an  earthquake's  tread. — 
So  from  Time's  tempestuous  dawn 
Freedom's  splendour  burst  and  shone  : — 
Thermopylae  and  Marathon 
Caught,  like  mountains  beacon-lighted, 

The  springing  Fire. — The  winged  glory 
On  Pbilippi  half-alighted, 

Like  an  eagle  on  a  promontory. 
Its  unwearied  wings  could  fan 
The  quenchless  ashes  of  Milan.  * 
From  age  to  age,  from  man  to  man, 
It  lived,  and  lit  from  land  to  land 

*  Milan  was  the  centre  of  the  resistance  of  the  Lombard  league  against 
the  Austrian  tyrant.  Frederic  Barbarossa  burnt  the  city  to  the  ground, 
but  liberty  lived  in  its  ashes,  and  it  rose  like  an  exhalation  from  its  ruin. — 
See  Sisn.undi's  "Hhti.ire  des  Rejiubliques  Ilalicnnes,"  a  book  which  has 
done  much  towards  awakening  the  Italians  to  an  imitation  of  their  great 
ancestors 


HELLAS.  350 

Florence,  Albion,  Switzerland. 
Then  night  fell :    and,  as  from  nighfy 
Re-assuming  fiery  flight, 
From  the  West  swift  Freedom  came, 

Against  the  course  of  heaven  and  doom, 
A  second  sun  arrayed  in  flame  : 

To  burn,  to  kindle,  to  illume, 
From  far  Atlantis  its  young  beams 
Chased  the  shadows  and  the  dreams. 
France,  with  all  her  sanguine  streams, 

Hid  but  quench'd  it  not ;  again 

Through  clouds  its  shafts  of  glory  rain 

From  utmost  Germany  to  Spain. 
As  an  eagle  fed  with  morning 
Scorns  the  embattled  tempest's  warning, 
When  she  seeks  her  aerie  hanging 

In  the  mountain-cedar's  hair, 
And  her  brood  expect  the  clanging 

Of  her  wings  through  the  wild  air, 
Sick  with  famine  ; — Freedom,  so 
To  what  of  Greece  remaineth  now 
Returns ;  her  hoary  ruins  glow 
Like  orient  mountains  lost  in  day  ; 

Beneath  the  safety  of  her  wings 
Her  renovated  nurslings  play, 

And  in  the  naked  lightnings 
Of  truth  they  purge  their  dazzled  eyes, 
Let  Freedom  leave,  where'er  she  flies, 
A  Desert  or  a  Paradise  ; 

Let  the  beautiful  and  the  brave 

Share  her  glory  or  a  grave. 

With  the  gifts  of  gladness 

Greece  did  thy  cradle  strew  j 
With  the  tears  of  sadness 

Greece  did  thy  shroud  bedew  ; 
With  an  orphan's  affection 

She  followed  thy  bier  through  time  ! 
And  at  thy  resurrection 

Re-appeareth,  like  thou,  sublime  ! 
If  Heaven  should  resume  thee, 

To  Heaven  shall  her  spirit  ascend; 
Semi.  II.       If  Hell  should  entomb  thee, 

To  Hell  shall  her  high  hearts  bend. 
Semi   I.  If  Annihilation — 

Semi.  II.  Dust  let  her  glories  be  ; 

And  a  name  and  a  nation 

Be  forgotten,  Freedom  with  thee  ! 

Indian.     His  brow  grows  darker — breathe  not — move  not ! 
He  starts — he  shudders  ; — ye  that  love  not, 
31* 


Semicho 

I. 

Semi. 

II. 

Semi. 

I. 

Semi. 

II. 

Semi 

I. 

360  HELLAS. 

With  your  panting  loud  and  fast 
Have  awakened  him  at  last. 

Mahmud  (starting  from  his  sleep.) 
Man  the  Seraglio-guard  !  make  fast  the  gate. 
What !  from  a  cannonade  of  three  short  hours  t 
'Tis  false  !  that  breach  towards  the  Bosphorus 
Cannot  be  practicable  yet. — Who  stirs  ? 
Stand  to  the  match  ;  that,  when  the  foe  prevails, 
One  spark  may  mix  in  reconciling  ruin 
The  conqueror  and  the  conquered !     Heave  the  tower 
Into  the  gap — wrench  off  the  roof  ! 

Enter  Hassan. 

Ha !  what ! 
The  truth  of  day  lightens  upon  my  dream, 
And  I  am  Mahmud  still. 

Has.  Your  Sublime  Highness 

Is  strangely  moved. 

Mali.  The  times  do  cast  strange  shadows 

On  those  who  watch  and  who  must  rule  their  course, 
Lest  they,  being  first  in  peril  as  in  glory, 
Be  whelm'd  in  the  fierce  ebb : — and  these  are  of  them. 
Thrice  has  a  gloomy  vision  haunted  me 
As  thus  from  sleep  into  the  troubled  day; 
It  shakes  me  as  the  tempest  shakes  the  sea, 
Leaving  no  figure  upon  memory's  glass. 
Would  that — no  matter.     Thou  didst  say  thou  knewest 
A  Jew,  whose  spirit  is  a  chronicle 
Of  strange  and  secret  and  forgotten  things, 
I  bade  thee  summon  him : — 'tis  said  his  tribe 
Dream,  and  are  wise  interpreters  of  dreams. 

Has.  The  Jew  of  whom  I  spake,  is  old, — so  old 
He  seems  to  have  outlived  a  world's  decay  ; 
The  hoary  mountains  and  the  wrinkled  ocean 
Seem  younger  still  than  he  ; — his  hair  and  beard 
Are  whiter  than  the  tempest-sifted  snow: 
His  cold  pale  limbs  and  pulseless  arteries 
Are  like  the  fibres  of  a  cloud  instinct 
With  light,  and  to  the  soul  that  quickens  them 
Are  as  the  atoms  of  the  mountain -drift 
To  the  winter  wind : — but  from  his  eye  looks  forth 
A  life  of  unconsumed  thought,  which  pierces 
The  present,  and  the  past,  and  the  to-come. 
Some  say  that  this  is  he  whom  the  great  prophet 
Jesus,  the  son  of  Joseph,  for  his  mockery 
Mock'd  with  the  curse  of  immortality. 
Some  feign  that  he  is  Enoch  ;  others  dream 
He  was  pre-adamite,  and  has  survived 
Cycles  of  generation  and  of  ruin. 
The  sage,  in  truth,  by  dreadful  abstinence 


HELLAS.  361 

And  conquering  penance  of  the  mutinous  flesh, 
Deep  contemplation,  and  unwearied  study, 
In  years  outstretch'd  beyond  the  date  of  man, 
May  have  obtain'd  to  sovereignty  and  science 
Over  those  strong  and  secret  things  and  thoughts 
Which  others  fear  and  know  not. 

Mali.  I  would  talk 

With  this  old  Jew. 

Has.  Thy  will  is  even  now 

Made  known  to  him,  where  he  dwells  in  a  sea-cavettt 
'Mid  the  Demonesi,  less  accessible 
Than  thou  or  God  !     He  who  would  question  him 
Must  sail  alone  at  sun-set,  where  the  stream 
Of  ocean  sleeps  around  those  foamless  isles 
When  the  young  moon  is  westering  as  now, 
And  evening  airs  wander  upon  the  wave; 
And  when  the  pines  of  that  bee-pasturing  isle, 
Green  Erebinthus,  quench  the  fiery  shadow 
Of  his  gilt  prow  within  the  sapphire  water; 
Then  must  the  lonely  helmsman  cry  aloud, 
Ahasuerus!  and  the  caverns  round 
Will  answer,  Ahasuerus !     If  his  prayer 
Be  granted,  a  faint  meteor  will  arise, 
Lighting  him  over  Marmora,  and  a  wind 
Will  rush  out  of  the  sighing  pine-forest, 
And  with  the  wind  a  storm  of  harmony 
Unutterably  sweet,  and  pilot  him 
Through,  the  soft  twilight  to  the  Bosphorus  : 
Thence,  at  the  hour  and  place  and  circumstance, 
Fit  for  die  matter  of  their  conference, 
The  Jew  appears.     Few  dare,  and  few  who  dare, 
Win  the  desired  communion — but  that  shout 

Bodes [A  shout  within. 

Mali.  Evil,  doubtless  ;    like  all  human  sounds. 
Let  me  converse  with  spirits. 

Has.  That  shout  again  ; 

Mali.  This  Jew  whom  thou  hast  summon'd — 
Has.  Will  be  here — 

Mali.  When  the  omnipotent  hour,  to  which  are  yoked 
He,  I,  and  all  things,  shall  compel — enough. 
Silence  those  mutineers — that  drunken  crew 
That  crowd  about  the  pilot  in  the  storm. 
Aye  !  strike  the  foremost  shorter  by  a  head! 
They  weary  me,  and  I  have  need  of  rest. 
Kings  are  like  stars — they  rise  and  set ;  they  have 
The  worship  of  the  world,  but  no  repose. 

[Exeunt  severally. 
Clorui    Worlds  on  worlds  are  rolling  ever 
From  creation  to  decay 
Like  the  bubbles  on  a  river, 


362  HELLAS. 

Sparkling,  bursting,  borne  away. 

But  they  are  still  immortal 

Who,  through  birth's  orient  portal, 
And  Death's  dark  chasm  hurrying  to  and  fro, 

Clothe  their  unceasing  flight 

In  the  brief  dust  and  light 
Gather'*!  around  their  chariots  as  they  go; 

New  shapes  they  still  may  weave, 

New  Gods,  new  laws,  receive, 
Bright  or  dim  are  they;  as  the  robes  they  last 
On  Death's  bare  ribs  had  cast. 

A  power  from  the  unknown  God, 

A  Promethean  conqueror  came  ; 
Like  a  triumphal  path  lie  trod 
The  thorns  of  death  and  shame. 
A  mortal  shape  to  him 
Was  like  the  vapour  dim 
Which  the  orient  planet  animates  with  light : 
Hell,  Sin,  and  Slavery,  came 
Like  blood-hounds  mild  and  tame, 
Nor  prey'd  until  their  lord  had  taken  flight. 
The  moon  of  Mahomet 
Arose,  and  it  shall  set ; 
While  blazon' d  as  on  heaven's  immortal  noon 
The  cross  leads  generations  on. 

Swift  as  the  radiant,  shapes  of  sleep, 

From  one  whose  dreams  are  paradise, 
Fly  when  the  fond  wretch  wakes  to  weep, 
And  day  peers  forth  with  her  blank  eye 

So  fleet,  so  faint,  so  fair, 
The  powers  of  earth  and  air 
Fled  from  the  folding  star  of  Bethlehem  : 
Apollo,  Pan,  and  Love, 
And  even  Olympian  Jove 
Grew  weak,  for  killing  Truth  had  glare    on  them. 
Our  hills,  and  seas,  and  streams, 
Dispeopled  of  their  dreams, 
Their  waters  turn'd  to  blood,  their  devr  to  tears, 
Wailed  for  the  golden  years. 

Enter  Mahmud,  Hassan,  Daood,  and  others. 

Mali.  More  gold  ?     Our  ancestors  bought  gold  with  victory, 
And  shall  I  sell  it  for  defeat  ? 

Daood.  The  Janizars 

Clamour  for  pay. 

Mali.  Go !  bid  them  pay  themselves 

With  Christian  blood:      Are  there  no  Grecian  virgins 
Whose  shrieks,  and  spasms,  and  tears,  they  may  enjoy? 
No  infidel  children  to  impale  on  spears  ? 


HELLAS.  363 

No  hoary  priests  after  the  patriarch 
Who  bent  the  curse  against  his  country's  heart, 
Which  clove  his  own  at  last  ?     Go  !  bid  them  kill : 
Blood  is  the  seed  of  gold. 

Daood.  It  has  been  sown, 

And  yet  the  harvest  to  the  sickle-men 
Is  as  a  grain  to  each. 

Mali.  Then  take  this  signet, 

Unlock  the  seventh  chamber,  in  which  lie 
The  treasures  of  victorious  Solyman. 
An  empire's  spoils  stored  for  a  day  of  ruin — 
O  spirit  of  my  sires !  is  it  not  come  ? 
The  prey-birds  and  the  wolves  are  gorged,  and  sleep  ; 
But  these,  who  spread  their  feast  on  the  red  earth, 
Hunger  for  gold,  which  fills  not.     See  them  fed  ; 
Then  lead  them  to  the  rivers  of  fresh  death.  [Esit  Daood. 

O  miserable  dawn  after  a  night 
More  glorious  than  the  day  which  it  usurped  ! 
O  faith  in  God  !  O  power  on  earth  !  O  word 
Of  the  great  Prophet,  whose  o'ershadowing  wings 
Darkened  the  thrones  and  idols  of  the  west, 
Now  bright ! — For  thy  sake  cursed  be  the  hour, 
Even  as  a  father  by  an  evil  child, 
When  the  orient  moon  of  Islam  roll'd  in  triumph 
From  Caucasus  to  white  Ceraunia! 
Ruin  above,  and  anarchy  below  ; 
Terror  without,  and  treachery  within  : 
The  chalice  of  destruction  full,  and  all 
Thirsting  to  drink  ;  and  who  among  us  dares 
To  dash  it  from  his  lips?  and  where  is  Hope  ? 

Has.     The  lamp  of  our  dominion  still  rides  high  • 
One  God  is  God — Mahomet  is  his  Prophet. 
Four  hundred  thousand  Moslems,  from  the  limits 
Of  utmost  Asia  irresistibly 
Throng,  like  full  clouds  at  the  Scirocco's  cry, 
But  not  like  them  to  weep  their  strength  in  tears; 
They  have  destroying  ligbtning,  and  their  step 
Wakes  earthquake,  to  consume  and  overwhelm, 
And  reign  in  ruin.     Phrygian  Olympus, 
Tmolus,  and  Latmos,  and  Mycale,  roughen 
With  horrent  arms,  and  lofty  ships,  even  now, 
Like  vapours  anchor' d  to  a  mountain's  edge, 
Freighted  with  fire  and  whirlwind,  wait  at  Scala 
The  convoy  of  the  ever-veering  wind. 
Samos  is  drunk  with  blood; — the  Greek  has  paid 
Brief  victory  with  swift  loss  and  long  despair. 
The  false  Moldavian  serfs  fled  fast  and  far 
When  the  fierce  shout  of  Allah-illa-Allah  ! 
Rose  like  the  war  cry  of  the  northern  wind, 
Which  kills  the  sluggish  clouds  and  leaves  a  flock 


364  HELLAS. 

Of  wild  swans  struggling  with  the  naked  storm. 

So  were  the  lost  Greeks  on  the  Danube's  day  ! 

If  night  is  mute,  yet  the  returning  sun, 

Kindles  the  voices  of  the  morning  birds  ; 

Nor  at  thy  bidding  less  exultingly 

Than  birds  rejoicing  in  the  golden  day, 

The  Anarchies  of  Africa  unleash 

Their  tempest-winged  cities  of  the  sea, 

To  speak  in  thunder  to  the  rebel  world. 

Like  sulphureous  clouds  half-shatter'd  by  the  storm, 

They  sweep  the  pale  /Egean,  while  the  Queen 

Of  Ocean,  bound  upon  her  island  throne, 

Far  in  the  West,  sits  mourning  that  her  sons, 

Who  frown  on  Freedom,  spare  a  smile  for  thee  : 

Russia  still  hovers,  as  an  eagle  might 

Within  a  cloud,  near  which  a  kite  and  crane 

1 1  ang  tangled  in  inextricable  fight, 

Tf>  stoop  upon  the  victor  ; — for  she  fears 

The  name  of  Freedom,  even  as  she  hates  thine ; 

But  recreant  Austria  loves  thee  as  the  grave 

Loves  pestilence,  and  her  slow  dogs  of  war, 

Flesh'd  with  the  chase,  come  up  from  Italy, 

And  howl  upon  their  limits  ;  for  they  see 

The  panther  Freedom  fled  to  her  old  cover, 

Amid  seas  and  mountains,  and  a  mightier  brood 

Crouch  around.     What  Anarch  wears  a  crown  or  mitre, 

Or  bears  the  sword,  or  grasps  the  key  of  gold, 

Whose  friends  are  not  thy  friends,  whose  foes  thy  foes  ? 

Our  arsenals  and  our  armories  are  full  ; 

Our  forts  defy  assaults  ;  ten  thousand  cannon 

Lie  ranged  upon  the  beach,  and  hour  by  hour 

Their  earth-convulsing  wheels  affright  the  city; 

The  galloping  of  fiery  steeds  makes  pale 

The  Christian  merchant,  and  the  yellow  Jew 

Hides  his  hoard  deeper  in  the  faithless  earth. 

Like  clouds,  and  like  the  shadows  of  the  clouds, 

Over  the  hills  of  Anatolia, 

Swift  in  wide  troops  the  Tartar  chivalry 

Sweep  : — the  far-Hashing  of  their  starry  lances 

Reverberates  the  dying  light  of  day. 

We  have  one  God,  one  King,  one  Hope,  one  Law  ; 

But  many-headed  Insurrection  stands 

Divided  in  itself,  and  soon  must  fall. 

Mali.  Proud  words,  when  deeds  come  short,  are  seasonable  ; 
Look,  Hassan,  on  yon  crescent  moon,  emblazon'd 
Upon  that  shatter'd  flag  of  fiery  cloud 
W  hich  leads  the  rear  of  the  departing  day, 
Wan  emblem  of  an  empire  fading  now  ! 
See  how  it  trembles  in  the  blood-red  air, 
And,  like  a  mighty  lamp  whose  oil  is  spent, 
Shrinks  on  the  horizon's  edge,  while,  from  above, 


HELLAS.  3G5 

One  star  with  insolent  and  victorious  light 
Hovers  above  its  fall,  and  with  keen  beams, 
Like  arrows  through  a  fainting  antelope, 
Strikes  its  weak  form  to  death. 

Has.  Even  as  that  moon 

Renews  itself 

Mali.  Shall  we  be  not  renew'd? 

Far  other  bark  than  ours  were  needed  now 
To  stem  the  torrent  of  descending  time  : 
The  spirit  that  lifts  the  slave  before  its  lord 
Stalks  through  the  capitals  of  armed  kings, 
And  spreads  bis  ensign  in  the  wilderness; 
Exults  in  chains  ;  and,  when  the  rebel  falls, 
Cries  like  the  blood  of  Abel  from  the  dust ; 
And  the  inheritors  of  earth,  like  beasts 
When  earthquake  is  unleash'd,  with  idiot  fear 
Cower  in  their  kingly  dens — as  I  do  now. 
What  were  defeat,  when  Victory  must  appal  ? 
Or  Danger,  when  Security  looks  pale  ? 
How  said  the  messenger — who,  from  the  fort 
Islanded  in  the  Danube,  saw  the  battle 
Of  Bucharest  ? — that — 

Has.  Ibrahim's  cimitar 

Drew  with  its  gleam  swift  victory  from  heaven, 
To  burn  before  him  in  the  night  of  battle — 
A  light  and  a  destruction. 

Malt.  Ay  !  the  day 

Was  ours  ;  but  how  ? — 

Has.  The  light  Wallachians, 

The  Arnaut,  Servian,  and  Albanian  allies, 
Fled  from  the  glance  of  our  artillery 
Almost  before  the  thunder-stone  alit : 
One  half  the  Grecian  army  made  a  bridge 
Of  safe  and  slow  retreat,  with  Moslem  dead  ; 
The  other— 

Mah.  Speak — tremble  not — 

Has.  Islanded 

By  victor  myriads,  form'd  in  hollow  square 
With  rough  and  steadfast  front,  and  thrice  flung  back 
The  deluge  of  our  foaming  cavalry; 
Thrice  their  keen  wedge  of  battle  pierced  our  lines. 
Our  baffled  army  trembled  like  one  man 
Before  a  host,  and  gave  them  space  ;  but  soon, 
From  the  surrounding  hills,  the  batteries  blazed, 
Kneading  them  down  with  fire  and  iron  rain. 
Yet  none  approach 'd  :  til),  like  a  field  of  corn 
Under  the  hook  of  the  swart  sickle-man, 
The  bands,  intrench 'd  in  mounds  of  Turkish  dead, 
Grew  weak  and  few. — Then  said  the  Pacha,  "  Slaves, 
Render  yourselves  ! — They  have  abandon'd  you — 


366  HELLAS. 

What  hope  of  refuge,  or  retreat,  or  aid  ? 

We  grant  your  lives." — "  Grant  that  which  is  thine  own,' 

Cried  one,  and  fell  upon  his  sword  and  died  ! 

Another — "  God,  and  man,  and  hope,  abandon  me  ; 

But  I  to  them  and  to  myself  remain 

Constant ;" — he  bowed  his  head,  and  his  heart  burst. 

A  third  exclaim 'd,  "  There  is  a  refuge,  tyrant, 

Where  thou  darest  not  pursue,  and  canst  not  harm, 

Shouldst  thou  pursue  :  there  we  shall  meet  again." 

Then  held  his  breath,  and,  after  a  brief  spasm, 

The  indignant  spirit  cast  its  mortal  garment 

Among  the  slain — dead  earth  upon  the  earth  ! 

So  these  survivors,  each  by  different  ways, 

Some  strange,  all  sudden,  none  dishonourable, 

Met  in  triumphant  death  ;  and  when  our  army, 

Closed  in,  while  yet  wonder,  and  awe,  and  shame, 

Held  back  the  base  hyenas  of  the  battle, 

That  feed  upon  the  dead  and  fly  the  living, 

One  rose  out  of  the  chaos  of  the  slain  ; 

And,  if  it  were  a  corpse  which  some  dread  spirit 

Of  the  old  saviours  of  the  land  we  rule 

Had  lifted  in  its  anger,  wandering  by ; 

Or  if  there  burn'd  within  the  dying  man 

Unquenchable  disdain  of  death,  and  faith 

Creating  what  it  feign'd,  I  cannot  tell  ; 

But  he  cried,  "  Phantoms  of  the  free,  we  come  ! 

Armies  of  the  Eternal,  ye  who  strike 

To  dust  the  citadels  of  sanguine  kings, 

And  shake  the  souls  throned  on  their  stony  hearts, 

And  thaw  their  frost-work  diadems  like  dew  ! — 

O  ye  who  float  around  this  clime,  and  weave 

The  garment  of  the  glory  which  it  wears  ; 

Whose  fame,  though  earth  betray  the  dust  it  clasp'd, 

Lies  sepulchred  in  monumental  thought ; 

Progenitors  of  all  that  yet  is  great, 

Ascribe  to  your  bright  senate,  O  accept, 

In  your  high  ministrations,  us,  your  sons — 

Us  first,  and  the  more  glorious  yet  to  come ! 

And  ye,  weak  conquerors  !  giants  who  look  pale 

When  the  crush'd  worm  rebels  beneath  your  tread — 

The  vultures,  and  the  dogs,  your  pensioners  tame, 

Are  overgorged  ;  but,  like  oppressors,  still 

They  crave  the  relic  of  destruction's  feast. 

The  exhalations  and  the  thirsty  winds 

Are  sick  with  blood  ;  the  dew  is  foul  with  death — 

Heaven's  light  is  quench'd  in  slaughter  ;  thus  where'er 

Upon  your  camps,  cities,  or  towers,  or  fleets, 

The  obscene  birds  the  reeking  remnants  cast 

Of  these  dead  limbs,  upon  your  streams  and  mountains, 

Upon  your  fields,  your  gardens,  and  your  house-tops, 


HELLAS.  367 

Where'er  the  winds  shall  creep,  or  the  clouds  fly, 
Or  the  dews  fall,  or  the  angry  sun  look  down 
With  poison'd  light — Famine,  and  Pestilence, 
And  Panic,  shall  wage  war  upon  our  side ! 
Nature  from  all  her  boundaries  is  moved 
Against  ye  ;  Time  has  found  ye  light  as  foam. 
The  Earth  rebels  ;  and  Good  and  Evil  stake 
Their  empire  o'er  the  unborn  world  of  men 
On  this  one  cast.     But,  ere  the  die  be  thrown, 
The  renovated  genius  of  our  race, 
Proud  umpire  of  the  impious  game,  descends 
A  seraph -winged  Victory,  bestriding 
The  tempest  of  the  Omnipotence  of  God, 
Which  sweeps  all  things  to  their  appointed  doom, 
And  you  to  Oblivion  !"■ — More  he  would  have  said, 
But— 

Mali.  Died — as  thou  shouldst,  ere  thy  lips  had  painted 
Their  ruin  in  the  hues  of  our  success. 
A  rebel's  crime,  gilt  with  a  rebel's  tongue  ! 
Your  heart  is  Greek,  Hassan. 

Has.  It  may  be  so: 

A  spirit  not  my  own  wrench *d  me  within, 
And  I  have  spoken  words  I  fear  and  hate  ; 
Vet  would  1  die  for — 

Mah.  Live !  O  live !  outlive 

Me  and  this  sinking  empire  ; — but  the  fleet — 

Has.  Alas  ! 

Mah.  The  fleet  which,  like  a  flock  of  clouds 

Chased  by  the  wind,  flies  the  insurgent  banner  ! 
Our  winged  castles  from  their  merchant  ships  ! 
Our  myriads  before  their  weak  pirate  bands  ! 
Our  arms  before  their  chains !  our  years  of  empire 
Before  their  centuries  of  servile  fear! 
Death  is  awake  !  Repulsed  on  the  waters, 
They  own  no  more  the  thunder-bearing  banner 
Of  Mah  mud;  but,  like  hounds  of  a  base  breed, 
Gorge  from  a  stranger's  hand,  and  rend  their  master. 

Has.     Latmos,  and  Ampelos,  and  Phanae,  saw 
The  wreck — 

Mah.  The  caves  of  the  Icarian  isles 

Hold  each  to  the  other  in  loud  mockery, 
And  with  the  tongue  as  of  a  thousand  echoes 
First  of  the  sea-convulsing  fight — and  then — 
Thou  darest  to  speak — senseless  are  the  mountains ; 
Interpret  thou  their  voice. 

Has.  My  presence  bore 

A  part  in  that  day's  shame.     The  Grecian  fleet 
Bore  down  at  day-break  from  the  North,  and  hung 
As  multitudinous  on  the  ocean  line 
As  cranes  upon  the  cloudless  Thracian  wind. 
32 


368  HELLAS. 

Our  squadron,  convoying  ten  thousand  men, 

Was  stretching  towards  Nauplia  when  the  battle 

Was  kindled  — 

First  through  the  hail  of  our  artillery 

The  agile  Hydriote  barks  with  press  of  sai1 

Dash'd: — ship  to  ship,  cannon  to  cannon,  man 

To  man,  were  grappled  in  the  embrace  of  war, 

Inextricable  but  by  death  or  victory. 

The  tempest  of  the  raging  fight  convulsed 

To  its  crystaline  depths  that  stainless  sea, 

And  shook  heaven's  roof  of  golden  morning  clouds 

Poised  on  a  hundred  azure  mountain-isles. 

In  the  brief  trances  of  the  artillery, 

One  cry  from  the  destroyed  and  the  destroyer 

Rose,  and  a  cloud  of  desolation  wrapt 

The  unforseen  event,  till  the  north  wind 

Sprung  from  the  sea,  lifting  the  heavy  veil 

Of  battle-smoke — then  victory — victory ! 

For,  as  we  ihought,  three  frigates  from  Algiers 

Bore  down  from  Naxos  to  our  aid,  but  soon 

The  abhorr'd  cross  glimmer' d  behind,  before, 

Among,  around  us  ;   and  that  fatal  sign 

Dried  with  its  beams  the  strength  of  Moslem  hearts, 

As  the  sun  drinks  the  dew. — What  more  ?     We  fled  ! 

Our  noonday  path  over  the  sanguine  foam 

Was  beacon'd,  and  the  glare  struck  the  sun  pale, 

By  our  consuming  transports  :   the  fierce  light 

Made  all  the  shadows  of  our  sails  blood-red, 

And  every  countenance  blank.     Some  ships  lay  feeding 

The  ravening  fire  even  to  the  water's  level: 

Some  were  blown  up :    some  settling  heavily, 

Sunk  ;  and  the  shrieks  of  our  companions  died 

Upon  the  wind,  that  bore  us  fast  and  far, 

Even  after  they  were  dead.     Nine  thousand  perish'd  ! 

We  met  the  vultures  legion'd  in  the  ah, 

Stemming  the  torrent  of  the  tainted  wind  : 

They,  screaming  from  their  cloudy  mountain  peaks, 

Stoop'd  through  the  sulphureous  battle-smoke,  and  perch'd 

Each  on  the  weltering  carcase  that  we  loved, 

Like  its  ill  angel  or  its  damned  soul. 

Hiding  upon  the  bosom  of  the  sea, 

We  saw  the  dog-fish  hastening  to  their  feast, 

Joy  waked  the  voiceless  people  of  the  sea, 

And  ravening  famine  left  his  ocean-cave 

To  dwell  with  war,  with  us,  and  with  despair. 

We  met  night  three  hours  to  the  west  of  Patmos, 

And,  with  night,  tempest — 

Malt  Cease ! 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

Met  Your  Sublime  Flightless, 


HELLAS.  369 

That  Christian  hound,  the  Muscovite  ambassador, 
Has  left  the  city.     If  the  rebel  fleet 
Had  anchor'd  in  the  port,  had  victory 
Crown'd  the  Greek  legions  in  the  Hippodrome, 
Panic  were  tamer. — Obedience  and  mutiny, 
Like  giants  in  contention  planet-struck, 
Stand  gazing  on  each  other. — There  is  peace 
In  Stamboul. — • 

Mdh .  Is  the  grave  not  calmer  still  ? 

Its  ruins  shall  be  mine. 

Una.  Fear  not  the  Russian  ; 

The  tiger  leagues  not  with  the  stag  at  bay 
Against  the  hunter. — Cunning,  base,  and  cruel, 
He  crouches,  watching  till  the  spoil  be  won, 
And  must  be  paid  for  his  reserve  in  blood. 
After  the  war  is  fought,  yield  the  sleek  Russian 
That  which  thou  canst  not  keep,  his  deserved  portion 
Of  blood,  which  shall  not  flow  through  streets  and  fields, 
Rivers  and  seas,  like  that  which  we  may  win, 
But  stagnate  in  the  veins  of  Christian  slaves  ! 

Enter  Second  Messenger. 

2nd  Mes.  Nauplia,  Tripolizza,  Mothon,  Athens, 
Navarin,  Artas,  Monembasia, 
Corinth,  and  Thebes,  are  carried  by  assault : 
And  every  Islamite  who  made  his  dogs 
Fat  with  the  flesh  of  Galilean  slaves, 
Pass'd  at  the  edge  of  the  sword  :  the  lust  of  blood, 
Which  .made  our  warriors  drunk,  is  quench'd  in  death  ; 
But,  like  a  fiery  plague,  breaks  out  anew 
In  deeds  which  makes  the  Christian  cause  look  pale 
In  its  own  light.     The  garrison  of  Patras 
Has  store  but  for  ten  days,  nor  is  there  hope 
But  from  the  Briton ;  at  once  slave  and  tyrant, 
His  wishes  still  are  weaker  than  his  fears  ; 
Or  he  would  sell  what  faith  may  yet  remain 
From  the  oaths  broke  in  Genoa  and  in  Norway  ; 
And,  if  you  buy  him  not,  your  treasury 
Is  empty  even  of  promises — his  own  coin. 
The  freemau  of  a  western  poet  chief* 
Holds  Attica  with  seven  thousand  rebels. 
And  has  beat  back  the  Pacha  of  Negropont; 
The  aged  Ali  sits  in  Yanina, 
A  crownless  metaphor  of  empire: 

*  A  Greek  who  had  been  Lord  Byron's  servant  commanded  the  in- 
surgents in  Attica.  This  Greek,  Lord  Byron  informs  me,  though  a  poet 
and  an  enthusiastic  patriot,  gave  him  rather  the  idea  of  a  timid  and  un- 
enterprising person.  It  appears  that  circumstances  make  men  what 
thev  are,  and  that  we  all  contain  the  germ  of  a  degree  of  degradation  or 
greatness,  whose  connexion  with  our  character  is  determined  by  events. 


370  HELLAS. 

His  name,  that  shadow  of  his  withered  might, 
Holds  our  besieging  army  like  a  spell 
In  prey  to  famine,  pest,  and  mutiny  : 
He,  bastioned  in  his  citadel,  looks  forth 
Joyless  upon  the  sapphire  lake  that  mirrors 
The  ruins  of  the  city  where  he  reign'd 
Childless  and  sceptreless.     The  Greek  has  reap'd 
The  costly  harvest  his  own  blood  matured, 
Not  the  sower,  AH, — who  has  bought  a  truce 
From  Ypsilanti,  with  ten  camel-loads 
Of  Indian  gold. 

Enter  a  Third  Messenger. 

Mah.  What  more  ? 

3rd  Mes.  The  Christian  tribes 

Of  Lebanon  and  the  Syrian  wilderness 
Are  in  revolt  ; — Damascus,  Hems,  Aleppo, 
Tremble  ; — the  Arab  menaces  Medina  ; 
The  Ethiop  has  intrenched  himself  in  Sennaar, 
And  keeps  the  Egyptian  rebel  well  employ'd 
Who  denies  homage,  claims  investiture 
As  price  of  tardy  aid.      Persia  demands 
The  cities  on  the  Tigris,  and  the  Georgians 
Refuse  their  living  tribute.     Crete  and  Cyprus, 
Like  mountain-twins,  that  from  each  other's  veins 
Catch  the  volcano-fire  and  earthquake-spasm, 
Shake  in  the  general  fever.  Through  the  city, 
Like  birds  before  a  storm,  the  Santons  shriek, 
And  prophesyings  horrible  and  new 
Are  heard  among  the  crowd  ;  that  sea  of  men 
Sleeps  on  the  wrecks  it  made,  breathless  and  still. 
A  Dervise,  learned  in  the  Koran,  preaches 
That  it  is  written  how  the  sins  of  Islam 

Must  raise  up  a  destroyer  even  now. 

The  Greeks  expect  a  Saviour  from  the  west  ;• 

Who  shail  not  come,  men  say,  in  clouds  and  glory, 

But  in  the  omnipresence  of  that  spirit 

In  which  all  live  and  are.     Ominous  signs 

Are  blazon'd  broadly  on  the  noon-day  sky  ; 

One  saw  a  red  cross  stamp'd  upon  the  sun  j 

It  has  rained  blood  ;  and  monstrous  births  declare 

The  secret  wrath  of  Nature  and  her  Lord. 

The  army  encamp' d  upon  the  Cydaris 

Was  roused  last  night  by  the  alarm  of  battle, 

*  It  is  reported  that  this  Messiah  had  arrived  at  a  seaport  near  Lace- 
demon  in  an  American  brig.  The  association  of  names  and  ideas  is  irre- 
sistibly ludicrous,  but  the  prevalence  of  such  a  rumour  strongly  marks 
the  state  of  popular  enthusiasm  in  Greece. 


HELLAS.  371 

And  saw  two  hosts  conflicting  in  the  air, — 
The  shadows  doubtless  of  the  unborn  time, 
Cast  on  the  mirror  of  the  night.     While  yet 
The  fight  hung  balanced,  there  arose  a  storm 
Which  swept  the  phantoms  from  among  the  stars. 
At  the  third  watch  the  spirit  of  the  plague 
Was  heard  abroad  flapping  among  the  tents  : 
Those  who  relieved  watch  found  the  sentinels  dead. 
The  last  news  from  the  camp  is,  that  a  thousand 
Have  sickened,  and — 

Enter  Fourth  Messenger. 

Mah.  And  thou,  pale  ghost,  dim  shadow 

Of  some  untimely  rumour,  speak  ! 

'itli  Mes.  One  comes 

Fainting  with  toil,  covered  with  foam  and  blood  j 
He  stood,  he  says,  upon  Clelonit's 
Promontory,  which  o'erlooks  the  isles  that  groan 
Under  the  Briton's  frown,  and  all  their  waters 
Then  trembling  in  the  splendour  of  the  moon  ; 
When,  as  the  wandering  clouds  unveiled  or  hid 
Her  boundless  light,  he  saw  two  adverse  fleets 
Stalk  through  the  night  in  the  horizon's  glimmer, 
Mingling  fierce  thunders  and  sulphureous  gleams, 
And  smoke  which  strangled  every  infant  wind 
That  soothed  the  silver  clouds  through  the  deep  air. 
At  length  the  battle  slept,  but  the  Scirocco 
Awoke,  and  drove  his  flock  of  thunder-clouds 
Over  the  sea-horizon,  blotting  out 
All  objects — save  that  in  the  faint  moon-glimpse 
He  saw,  or  dreamed  he  saw,  the  Turkish  admiral 
And  two,  the  loftiest  of  our  ships  of  war, 
With  the  bright  image  of  that  Queen  of  Heaven, 
Who  hid,  perhaps,  her  face  for  grief,  reversed  ; 
And  the  abhorred  cross — 

Enter  an  Attendant. 

Atten.  Your  Sublime  Highness, 

The  Jew,  who 

Mah.  Could  not  come  more  seasonably : 

Bid  him  attend.     I'll  hear  no  more  !  Too  long 
We  gaze  on  danger  through  the  mist  of  fear, 
And  multiply  upon  our  shatter'd  hopes 
The  images  of  ruin.     Come  what  will ! 
To-morrow  and  to-morrow  are  as  lamps 
Set  in  our  path  to  light  us  to  the  edge 
Through   rough  and  smooth :  nor  can  we  suffer  aught 
Which  he  inflicts  not  in  whose  hand  we  are.  [_Exeuntt 

Semicho.  I.       Would  I  were  the  winged  cloud 
Of  a  tempest  swift  and  loud, 
82* 


372  HELLAS. 

I  would  scorn 
The  smile  of  morn, 
And  the  wave  where  the  moon-rise  is  born ! 
I  would  leave 
The  spirits  of  eve 
A  shroud  for  the  corpse  of  the  day  to  weave 
From  other  threads  than  mine  ! 
Bask  in  the  blue  noon  divine 
Who  would,  not  I. 
Semicho.  II.  Whither  to  fly  ? 

Semicho.  I.       Where  the  rocks  that  gird  th'  JEge&n 
Echo  to  the  battle  paean 
Of  the  free— 
I  would  flee 
A  tempestuous  herald  of  victory  1 
My  golden  rain 
For  the  Grecian  slain 
Should  mingle  in  tears  with  the  bloody  main; 
And  my  solemn  thunder-knell 
Should  ring  to  the  world  the  passing-bell 
Of  tyranny  !     • 
Semicho.  II.  Ah,  King  !  wilt  thou  chain 

The  rack  and  the  rain  ? 
Wilt  thou  fetter  the  lightning  and  hurricane  ? 
The  storms  are  free, 
But  we — 
Chorus.         O  slavery  !  thou  frost  of  the  world's  prime, 

Killing  its  flowers,  and  leaving  its  thorns  bare 
Thy  touch  has  stamp'd  these  limbs  with  crime. 
These  brows  thy  branding  garland  bear ! 
But  the  free  heart,  the  impassive  soul, 
Scorn  thy  control ! 
Semicho.  I.       Let  there  be  light !  said  Liberty ; 
And,  like  sunrise  from  the  sea, 
Athens  arose  ! — Around  her  born, 
Shone,  like  mountains  in  the  morn, 
Glorious  states  ; — and  are  they  now 
Ashes,  wrecks,  oblivion  ? 
Semicho.  II.  Go 

Where  Thermse  and  Asopus  swallow'd 

Persia,  as  the  sand  does  foam. 
Deluge  upon  deluge  followed, 

Discord,  Macedon,  and  Rome  ; 
And,  lastly,  thou ! 
Semicho.  I.  Temples  and  towers, 

Citadels  and  marts,  and  they 

Who  live  and  die  there,  have  been  ours, 
And  may  be  thine,  and  must  decay ; 


HELLAS.  373 

But  Greece  and  her  foundations  are 
Built  below  the  tide  of  war, 
Based  on  the  crystalline  sea 
Of  thought  and  its  eternity  ; 
Her  citizens,  imperial  spirits, 

Rule  the  present  from  the  past, 
On  all  this  world  of  men  inherits 
Their  seal  is  set. 
Semicho.  II.  Hear  ye  the  blast, 

Whose  Orphic  thunder  thrilling  calls 
From  ruin  her  Titanian  walls  ? 
Whose  spirit  shakes  the  sapless  bones 

Of  Slavery  ?     Argos,  Corinth,  Crete, 
Hear,  and  from  their  mountain  thrones 
The  daemons  and  the  nymphs  repeat 
The  harmony. 
Semicho.  I.  I  hear  !   I  hear  ! 

Semicho.  II.     The  world's  eyeless  charioteer, 
Destiny,  is  hurrying  by ! 
What  faith  is  crush' d,  what  empire  bleeds, 
Etmeath  her  earthquake- footed  steeds  ? 
What  eagle-winged  victory  sits 
At  her  right  hand  1  what  shadow  flits 
Before  ?  what  splendour  rolls  behind? 

Ruin  and  renovation  cry, 
Who  but  we  ? 
Semicho.  I.  I  hear!   I  hear! 

The  hiss  as  of  a  rushing  wind, 
The  roar  as  of  an  ocean  foaming, 
The  thunder  as  of  earthquake  coming, 

I  hear  !  I  hear  ! 
The  crash  as  of  an  empire  falling, 
The  shrieks  as  of  a  people  calling 
Mercy  !  Mercy! — How  they  thrill  ! 
Then  a  shout  of  "  Kill !  kill !  kill !" 
And  then  a  small  still  voice,  thus — 
Semicho.  II.  For 

Revenge  and  wrong  bring  forth  their  kind, 

The  foul  cubs  like  their  parents  are  ; 
Their  den  is  in  their  guilty  mind, 

And  Conscience  feeds  them  with  despair. 
Semicho.  I.       In  sacred  Athens,  near  the  fane 

Of  Wisdom,  Pity's  altar  stood  ; 
Serve  not  the  unknown  God  in  vain, 
But  pay  that  broken  shrine  again 
Love  for  hate,  and  tears  for  blood. 

Enter  Mahmud  and  Ahasuerus. 
Mah.  Thou  art  a  man,  thou  sayest,  even  as  we — 


874  HELLAS. 

Alias.  No  more  ! 

Mali.  But  raised  among  thy  fellow  men 

By  thought,  as  I  by  power. 

Alias.  Thou  sayest  so. 

Mali.     Thou  art  an  adept  in  the  difficult  lore 
Of  Greek  and  Frank  philosophy  ;  thou  numberest 
The  flowers,  and  thou  measurest  the  stars  ; 
Thou  severest  element  from  element  ; 
Thy  spirit  is  present  in  the  past,  and  sees 
The  birth  of  this  old  world  through  all  its  cycles 
Of  desolation  and  of  loveliness  ; 
And  when  man  was  not,  and  how  man  became 
The  monarch  and  the  slave  of  this  low  sphere, 
And  all  its  narrow  circles — it  is  much. 
I  honour  thee,  and  would  be  what  thou  art 
Were  I  not  what  I  am  ;  but  the  unborn  hour, 
Cradled  in  fear  and  hope,  conflicting  storms 
Who  shall  unveil  1     Nor  thou,  nor  1,  nor  any 
Mighty  or  wise.     I  apprehend  not 
What  thou  hast  taught  me,  but  now  I  perceive 
That  thou  art  no  interpreter  of  dreams ; 
Thou  dost  not  own  that  art,  device,  or  God, 
Can  make  the  future  present — let  it  come  ! 
Moreover,  thou  disdainest  us  and  ours  : 
Thou  art  as  God,  whom  thou  contemplatest. 

Alias.  Disdain  thee  ! — Not  the  worm  beneath  my  feet 
The  Fathomless  has  care  for  meaner  things 
Than  thou  canst  dream,  and  has  made  pride  for  those 
Who  would  be  what  they  may  not,  or  would  seem 
That  which  they  are  not.     Sultan  !  talk  no  more 
Of  thee  and  me,  the  future  and  the  past ; 
But  look  on  that  which  cannot  change — the  one 
The  unborn,  and  the  undying.     Earth  and  ocean, 
Space,  and  the  isles  of  life  or  light  that  gem 
The  sapphire  floods  of  interstellar  air, 
This  firmament  pavilion'd  upon  chaos, 
With  all  its  cressets  of  immortal  fire, 
Whose  outwalk,  bastioned  impregnably 
Against  the  escape  of  boldest  thoughts,  repels  them 
As  Calpe  the  Atlantic  clouds — this  whole 
Of  suns,  and  worlds,  and  men,  and  beasts,  and  flowers, 
With  all  the  silent  or  tempestuous  workings 
By  which  they  have  been,  are,  or  cease  to  be, 
Is  but  a  vision  : — all  that  it  inherits 
Are  motes  of  a  sick  eye,  bubbles,  and  dreams  ; 
Thought  is  its  cradle  and  its  grave,  nor  less 
The  future  and  the  past  are  idle  shadows 
Of  thought's  eternal  flight — they  have  no  being, 
Nought  is  but  that  it  feels  itself  to  be. 

Mah.  What  meanest  thou  1   thy  words  stream  like  a  tempest 


HELLAS.  376 

Of  dazzling  mist  within  my  brain — they  shake 

The  earth  on  which  I  stand,  and  hang  like  night 

On  heaven  above  me.      What  can  they  avail  ? 

They  east  on  all  things,  surest,  brightest,  best, 

Doubt,  insecurity,  astonishment. 

Alias.  Mistake  me  not !     All  is  contained  in  each. 

Dodona's  forest  to  an  acorn's  cup, 

Is  that  which  has  been  or  will  be,  to  that 

\N  Inch  is — the  absent  to  the  present.     Thought 

Alone,  and  its  quick  elements,  Will,  Passion, 

Reason,  Imagination,  cannot  die  ; 

They  are  what  that  which  they  regard  appears, 

The  stuff' whence  mutability  can  weave 

All  that  it  hath  dominion  over, — worlds,  worms, 

Empires,  and  superstitions.     What  has  thought 

To  do  with  time,  or  place,  or  circumstance  ? 

Wouldst  thou  behold  the  future  ?■ — ask  and  have  ! 

Knock  and  it  shall  be  open'd — look,  and  lo! 

The  coming  age  is  shadowed  on  the  past 

As  on  a  glass. 

Mali.   Wild,  wilder  thoughts  convulse 

My  spirit — Did  not  Mahomet  the  Second 
Win  Stamboul  ? 

Alms.  Thou  wouldst  ask  that  giant  spirit 

The  written  fortunes  of  thy  house  and  faith. 
Thou  wouldst  cite  one  out  of  the  grave  to  tell 

How  what  was  born  in  blood  must  die. 

Mali.  Thy  words 

Have  power  on  me !     J  see — 
Alias.  What  hearest  thou  i 

Mali.  A  far  whisper 

Terrible  silence. 

Ahas.  What  succeeds  ? 

Mah.  The  sound  * 

As  of  the  assault  of  an  imperial  city, 
The  hiss  of  inextinguishable  fire, 
The  roar  of  giant  cannon  ; — the  earthquaking 
Fall  of  vast  bastions  and  precipitous  towers, 
The  shock  of  crags  shot  from  strange  engin'ry, 
The  clash  of  wheels,  and  clang  of  armed  hoots, 
And  crash  of  brazen  mail,  as  of  the  wreck 
Of  adamantine  mountains — the  mad  blast 
Of  trumpets,  and  the  neigh  of  raging  steeds, 
And  shrieks  of  women  whose  thrill  jars  the  blood, 
And  one  sweet  laugh,  most  horrible  to  hear, 
As  of  a  joyous  infant  waked  and  playing 
With  its  dead  mother's  breast ;  and  now  more  loud 

*  For  the  vision  of  Mahmud  of  the  taking  of  Constantinople  in  H45,  see 
Gibbon's  Decline  and  Full  of  the  Human  Umpire,  vol.  xii.  \>.  'ITS. 


1 


376  HELLAS 

The  mingled  battle-cry — ha  !  hear  I  not 
Ev  rovru>  vikt].     Allah -illah- Allah  ! 

Alias.     The  sulphureous  mist  is  raised — thou  seest — 

Mali.  A  chasrn, 

As  of  two  mountains,  in  the  wall  of  Stamboul ; 
And  in  that  ghastly  breach  the  Islamites, 
Like  giants  on  the  ruins  of  a  world, 
Stand  in  the  light  of  sunrise.     In  the  dust 
Glimmers  a  kingless  diadem,  and  one 
Of  i~egal  port  has  cast  himself  beneath 
The  stream  of  war.     Another,  proudly  clad 
In  golden  arms,  spurs  a  Tartarian  barb 
Into  the  gap,  and  with  his  iron  mace 
Directs  the  torrent  of  that  tide  of  men, 
And  seems — he  is — Mahomet. 

Alias.  What  thou  seest 

Is  but  the  ghost  of  thy  forgotten  dream  ; 
A  dream  itself,  yet  less,  perhaps,  than  that 
Thou  call'st  reality.     Thou  mayst  behold 
How  cities,  on  which  empire  sleeps  enthroned, 
Bow  their  towered  crests  to  mutability. 
Foised  by  the  flood,  e'en  on  the  height  thou  boldest, 
Thou  mayst  now  learn  how  the  full  tide  of  power 
Ebbs  to  its  depths. — Inheritor  of  glory, 
Conceived  in  darkness,  born  in  blood,  and  nourish' d 
With  tears  and  toil,  thou  seest  the  mortal  throes 
Of  that  whose  birth  was  but  the  same.     The  past 
Now  stands  before  thee  like  an  Incarnation 
Of  the  To-come  ;  yet  wouldst  thou  commune  with 
That  portion  of  thyself  which  was,  ere  thou 
Didst  start  for  this  brief  race  whose  crown  is  death  : 
Dissolve  with  that  strong  faith  and  fervent  passion 
Which  call'd  it  from  the  uncreated  deep, 
Yon  cloud  of  war,  with  its  tempestuous  phantoms 
Of  raging  death  ;  and  draw  with  mighty  will 
The  imperial  shade  hither.  [Exit  Ahasuerus. 

Mali.  Approach ! 

Phantom.  I   come 

Thence  whither  thou  must  go  !     The  grave  is  fitter 
To  take  the  living  than  give  up  the  dead  ; 
Yet  has  thy  faith  prevail'd,  and  I  am  here. 
The  heavy  fragments  of  the  power  which  fell 
When  I  arose,  like  shapeless  crags  and  clouds, 
Hang  round  my  throne  on  the  abyss,  and  voices 
Of  strange  lament  soothe  my  supreme  repose, 
Wailing  for  glory  never  to  return. — 
A  later  empire  nods  in  its  decay  ; 
The  autumn  of  a  greener  faith  is  come 
And  wolfish  change,  like  winter,  howls  to  strip 

The  foliage  in  which  Fame,  the  eagle,  built 


HELLAS.  377 

Her  aerie  while  Dominion  whelp  d  below. 

The  storm  is  in  its  branches,  and'the  frost 

Is  on  its  leave?,  and  the  blank  deep  expects 

Oblivion  on  oblivion,  spoil  on  spoil, 

Ruin  on  ruin  :  thou  art  slow,  nty  son  ; 

The  Anarchs  of  the  world  of  darkness  keep 

A  throne  for  thee,  round  which  thine  empire  lies 

Boundless  and  mute  ;  and  for  thy  subjects  thour 

Like  us,  shall  rule  the  ghosts  of  murder' d  life, 

The  phantoms  of  the  powers  who  rule  thee  now — 

Mutinous  passions,  and  conflicting  fears, 

And  hopes  that  sate  themselves  on  dust  and  die  ! 

Stript  of  their  mortal  strength,  as  thou  of  thine. 

Islam  must  fall,  but  we  will  reign  together, 

Over  its  ruins  in  the  world  of  death  : — 

And,  if  the  trunk  be  dry,  yet  shall  the  seed 

Unfold  itself  even  in  the  shape  of  that 

Which  gathers  birth  in  its  decay.     Woe  !  woe  I 

To  the  weak  people  tangled  in  the  grasp 

Of  its  last  spasms. 

Mali.  Spirit,  woe  to  all ! 

Woe  to  the  wrong'd  and  the  avenger !     Woe 
To  the  destroyer,  woe  to  the  destroy'd  ! 
Woe  to  the  dupe,  and  woe  to  the  deceiver ! 
Woe  to  the  oppress'd,  and  woe  to  the  oppressor ! 
Woe  both  to  those  that  suffer  and  inflict ! 
Those  who  are  born,  and  those  who  die  !     But  say, 
Imperial  shadow  of  the  thing  I  am, 
When,  how,  by  whom,  Destruction  must  accomplish 
Her  consummation  ? 

Phan.  Ask  the  cold,  pale  Hour, 

Rich  in  reversion  of  impending  death, 
When  he  shall  fall  upon  whose  ripe  grey  hairs 
Sit  care,  and  sorrow,  and  infirmity — 

The  weight  which  crime,  whose  wings  are  plumed  with  years, 
Leaves  in  his  flight  from  ravaged  heart  to  heart 
Over  the  heads  of  men,  under  which  burthen 
They  bow  themselves  unto  the  grave  ;  fond  wretch! 
He  leans  upon  his  crutch,  and  talks  of  years 
To  come,  and  how,  in  hours  of  youth  renew'd, 
He  will  renew  lost  joys,  and — 

Voice  icithout.  Victory!  victory! 

{The  Phantom  vanishes.) 

Malt.  What  sound  of  the  importunate  earth  has  broken 
My  mighty  trance  ? 

Voice  without.  Victory  !  victory  ! 

Mali.   Weak  lightning  before  darkness  !  poor  faint  smile 
Of  dying  Islam  I     Voice  which  art  the  response 
Of  hollow  weakness  !     Do  I  wake  and  live  ? 
Were  there  such  things  ?  or  may  the  unquiet  brain, 


378  HELLAS. 

Vex'd  by  the  wise  mad  talk  of  the  old  Jew, 

Have  shaped  itself  these  shadows  of  its  fear? 

It  matters  not ! — for  nought  we  see  or  dream, 

Possess,  or  lose,  or  grasp  at,  can  be  worth 

More  than  it  gives  or  teaches.     Come  what  may, 

The  future  must  become  the  past,  and  I, 

As  they  were,  to  whom  once  this  present  hour, 

This  gloomy  crag  of  time  to  which  I  cling, 

Seem'd  an  Elysian  isle  of  peace  and  joy 

Never  to  be  attain'd. —  I  must  rebuke 

This  drunkenness  of  triumph  ere  it  die, 

And,  dying,  bring  despair, — Victory ! — poor  slaves  ! 

(Exit  Mahmud.) 
Voice  without.     Shout  in  the  jubilee  of  death  !     The  Greek» 
Are  as  a  brood  of  lions  in  the  net, 
Round  which  the  kingly  hunters  "of  the  earth 
Stand  smiling.     Anarchs,  ye  whose  daily  food 
Are  curses,  groans,  and  gold,  the  fruit  of  death, 
From  Thule  to  the  girdle  of  the  world, 
Come,  feast !  the  board  groans  with  the  flesh  of  men — 
The  cup  is  foaming  with  a  nation's  blood, 
Famine  and  Thirst  await :— eat,  drink,  and  die  ! 

Semicho.  I.  Victorious  Wrong,  with  vulture  scream, 
Salutes  the  risen  sun,  pursues  the  flying  clay  ! 

I  saw  her,  ghastly  as  a  tyrant's  dream, 
Perch  on  the  trembling  pyramid  of  night, 
Beneath  which  earth  and  all  her  realms  pavilion'd  lay 
In  visions  of  the  dawning  undelight  ? 
Who  shall  impede  her  night  1 
Who  rob  her  of  her  prey  1 
Voice  without.     Victory !  victory !  Russia's  famish'd  eagles 
Dare  not  to  prey  beneath  the  crescent's  light. 
Impale  the  remnant  of  the  Greeks  !  despoil ! 
Violate  !  make  their  flesh  cheaper  than  dust ! 
Semicho.  II.     Thou  voice  which  art 
The  herald  of  the  ill  in  splendour  hid  ! 

Thou  echo  of  the  hollow  heart 
Of  monarchy,  bear  me  to  thine  abode, 

When  desolation  flashes  o'er  a  world  destroy'd. 
O  bear  me  to  those  isles  of  jagged  cloud 

Which  float  like  mountains  on  the  earthquakes,  'mid 
The  momentary  oceans  of  the  lightning  ; 
Or  to  some  toppling  promontory  proud 
Of  solid  tempest,  whose  black  pyramid, 
Riven,  overhangs  the  founts  intensely  brightening 
Of  those  dawn-tinted  deluges  of  fire 
Before  their  waves  expire, 
When  heaven  and  earih  are  light,  and  only  light 
In  the  thunder-night  ! 
Voice  without.    Victory  !  Victory!  Austria,  Russia,  England, 


HELLAS.  379 

And  that  tame  serpent,  that  poor  shadow,  France, 
Cry  peace,  and  that  means  death  when  monarchs  speak  ! 
Ho,  there  !  bring  torches,  sharpen  those  red  stakes  ! 
These  chains  are  light,  litter  for  slaves  and  prisoners 
Than  Greeks.     Kill!  plunder!  burn!  let  none  remain. 
Semicho.  I.    Alas  for  Liberty ! 
If  numbers,  wealth,  or  unt'ulnlling  years 
Or  fate,  can  quell  the  free ; 
Alas  for  Virtue  !  when 
Torments,  or  contumely,  or  the  sneers 
Of  erring-judging  men, 
Can  break  the  heart  where  it  abides. 
Alas  !  if  Love,  whose  smile  makes  this  obscure  world  splendid 
Can  change,  with  its  false  times  and  tides, 
Like  hope  and  terror — 
Alas  for  Love  !  * 
And  Truth,  who  wanderest  lone  and  unbefriended, 
If  thou  canst  veil  thy  lie-consuming  mirror 
Before  the  dazzled  eyes  of  error. 
Alas  for  thee  !   Image  of  the  Above. 
Semicho.  II.  Repulse,  with  plumes  from  conquest  torn, 
Led  the  ten  thousand  from  the  limits  of  the  morn 

Through  many  a  hostile  Anarchy  ! 
At  length  they  wept  aloud  and  cried,  "  The  sea  !  the  sea  !" 
Through  exile,  persecution,  and  despair, 

Rome  was,  and  young  Atlantis  shall  become 
The  wonder,  or  the  terror,  or  the  tomb, 
Of  all  whose  step  wakes  power,  lull'd  in  her  savage  lair. 
But  Greece  was  as  a  hermit  child, 
Whose  fairest  thoughts  and  limbs  were  built 
To  woman's  growth  by  dreams  so  mild, 

She  knew  not  pain  or  guilt ; 
And  now,  O  Victory,  blush  !  and  Empire,  tremble, 
When  ye  desert  the  free  ! 
If  Greece  must  be 
A  wreck,  yet  shall  its  fragments  re-assemble, 
And  build  themselves  again  impregnably 

In  a  diviner  clime, 
To  Amphionic  music,  on  some  cape  sublime, 
\Vhich  frowns  above  the  idle  foam  of  Time. 

Semicho.  I.  Let  the  tyrants  rule  the  desert  they  have  made ; 
Let  the  free  possess  the  Paradise  thev  claim; 
Be  the  fortune  of  our  fierce  oppressors  weigh'd 
With  our  ruin,  our  resistance,  and  our  name ! 
Semicho.  II.  Our  dead  shall  be  the  seed  of  their  decay, 
Our  survivors  be  the  shadow  of  their  pride, 
Our  adversity  a  dream  to  pass  away — 

Their  dishonour  a  remembrance  to  abide  ! 
Voice  without.  Victory  !  Victory  !    The  bought  Briton  sends 
The  keys  of  Ocean  to  the  Islamite. 


380  HELLAS. 

Now  shall  the  blazon  of  the  cross  be  veil'd, 
And  British  skill  directing,  Othman  might, 
Thunder-strike  rebel  victory.     Oh,  keep  holy 
This  jubilee  of  unrevenged  blood  ! 
Kill !  crush  !  despoil !     Let  not  a  Greek  escape ! 

Semicho.  I.  Darkness  has  dawn'd  in  the  East 

On  the  noon  of  time  : 
The  death-birds  descend  to  their  feast 

From  the  hungry  clime. 
Let  Freedom  and  Peace  flee  far 

To  a  sunnier  strand, 
And  follow  Love's  folding  star 

To  the  evening  land  ! 

Semicho.  II.  The  young  moon  has  fed 
Her  exhausted  hcyrn 
With  the  sunset's  fire  ; 

The  weak  day  is  dead, 

But  the  night  is  not  born  ; 
And,  like  loveliness  panting  with  wild  desire, 
While  it  trembles  with  fear  and  delight, 
Hesperus  flies  from  awakening  night, 
And  pants  in  its  beauty  and  speed  with  light 
Fast-flashing,  soft,  and  bright. 
Thou  beacon  of  love  !  thou  lamp  of  the  free  ! 

Guide  us  far,  far  away, 
To  climes  where  now,  veil'd  by  the  ardour  of  day, 
Thou  art  hidden 
From  waves  on  which  weary  Noon 
Faints  in  her  summer  swoon, 
Between  kingless  continents,  sinless  as  Eden, 
Around  mountains  and  islands  inviolably 
Prankt  on  the  sapphire  sea. 

Semicho.  I.       Through  the  sunset  of  hope, 

Like  the  shapes  of  a  dream, 

What  Paradise  islands  of  glory  gleam 
Beneath  Heaven's  cope. 

Their  shadows  more  clear  float  by — 
The  sound  of  their  oceans,  the  light  of  their  sky, 
The  music  and  fragrance  their  solitudes  breathe, 
Burst  like  morning  on  dreams,  or  like  Heaven  on  death, 

Through  the  walls  of  our  prison  ; 

And  Greece,  which  was  dead,  is  arisen  ! 

Cho.   The  world's  great  age  begins  anew, 
The  golden  years  return, 
The  earth  doth  like  a  snake  renew 
Her  winter  weeds  outworn  : 
Heaven  smiles,  and  faiths  and  empires  glean* 
Like  wrecks  of  a  dissolving  dream. 


HELLAS.  3S1 

A  brighter  Hellas  rears  its  mountains 

From  waves  serener  far ; 
A  new  Peneus  rolls  its  fountains 

Against  the  morning-star. 
Where  fairer  Tempes  bloom,  there  sleep 
Young  Cyclads,  on  a  sunnier  deep. 
A  loftier  Argo  cleaves  the  main, 

Fraught  with  a  later  prize  ; 
Another  Orpheus  sings  again. 

And  loves,  and  weeps,  and  dies. 
A  new  Ulysses  leaves  cnce  more 
Calypso  for  his  native  shore. 
Oh,  write  no  more  the  tale  of  Troy, 

If  earth  Death's  scroll  must  be  ! 
Nor  mix  with  Lilian  rage  the  joy 

Which  dawns  upon  the  free  : 
Although  a  subtler  sphinx  renew 
Riddles  of  death  Thebes  never  knew 
Another  Athens  shall  arise, 

And  to  remoter  time 
Bequeath,  like  sunset  to  the  skies, 

The  splendour  of  its  prime ; 
And  leave,  if  nought  so  bright  may  live, 
All  earth  can  take  or  Heaven  can  give. 
Saturn  and  Love  their  long  repose 

Shall  burst,  more  bright  and  good 
Than  all  who  fell,  than  One  who  rose, 

Than  many  unsubdued : 
Not  gold,  not  blood,  their  altar  dowers. 
But  votive  tears,  and  symbol  flowers. 
Oh,  cease  !  must  hate  and  death  return  ? 
Cease  !  must  men  kill  and  die  ? 
Cease !  drain  not  to  its  dregs  the  urn 

Of  bitter  prophecy. 
The  world  is  weary  of  the  past, 
Oh,  might  it  die  or  rest  at  last ! 


END  OF  HELLAS. 


382 

JULIAN   AND   MADDALO; 

A  CONVERSATION. 


I  rode  one  evening  with  Count  Maddalo 

Upon  the  bank  of  land  which  breaks  the  flow 

Of  Adria  towards  Venice  :  a  bare  strand 

Of  hillocks,  heaped  from  ever-shifting  sand, 

Matted  with  thistles  and  amphibious  weeds, 

Such  as  from  earth's  embrace  the  salt-ooze  breeds, 

Is  this  ;  an  uninhabited  sea-side, 

Which  the  lone  fisher,  when  his  nets  are  dried, 

Abandons  ;  and  no  other  object  breaks 

The  waste,  but  one  dwarf  tree  and  some  few  stakes 

Broken  and  unrepaired,  and  the  tide  makes 

A  narrow  space  of  level  sand  thereon, 

Where  'twas  our  wont  to  ride  while  day  went  down  : 

This  ride  was  my  delight.     I  love  all  waste 

And  solitary  places  ;  where  we  taste 

The  pleasure  of  believing  what  we  see 

Is  boundless,  as  we  wish  our  souls  to  be  : 

And  such  was  this  wide  ocean,  and  this  shore 

More  barren  than  its  billows  ;  and  yet  more 

Than  all,  with  a  remembered  friend  I  love 

To  ride  as  then  I  rode  ; — for  the  winds  drove 

The  living  spray  along  the  sunny  air 

Into  our  faces  :  the  blue  heavens  were  bare, 

Stripped  to  their  depths  by  the  awakening  north  ; 

And,  from  the  waves,  sound  like  delight  broke  forth, 

Harmonizing  with  solitude,  and  sent 

Into  our  hearts  aerial  merriment. 

So,  as  we  rode,  we  talked  ;  and  the  swift  thought, 

Winging  itself  with  laughter,  lingered  not, 

But  flew  from  brain  to  brain, — such  glee  was  ours, 

Charged  with  light  memories  of  remembered  hours, 

None  slow  enough  for  sadness  :  till  we  came 

Homeward,  which  always  makes  the  spirit  tame. 

This  day  had  been  cheerful  but  cold,  and  now 

The  sun  was  sinking,  and  the  wind  also. 

Our  talk  grew  somewhat  serious,  as  may  be 

Talk  interrupted  with  such  raillery 

As  mocks  itself,  because  it  cannot  scorn 


JULIAN   AND  MADDALO. 

The  thoughts  it  would  extinguish  : — 'twas  forlorn, 
Yet  pleasing ;  such  as  once,  so  poets  tell, 
The  devils  held  within  the  dales  of  hell, 
Concerning  God,  freewill,  and  destiny. 
Of  all  that  Earth  has  been,  or  yet  may  be  ; 
All  that  vain  men  imagine  or  believe, 
Or  hope  can  paint,  or  suffering  can  achieve, 
We  descanted  ;  and  I  (  for  ever  still 
Is  it  not  wise  to  make  the  best  of  ill  ?) 
Argued  against  despondency  ;  but  pride 
Made  my  companion  take  the  darker  side. 
The  sense  that  he  was  greater  than  his  kind 
Had  struck,  mefhinks,  his  eagle  spirit  blind 
By  gazing  on  its  own  exceeding  light. 
Meanwhile  the  sun  paused  ere  it  should  alight 
,Over  the  horizon  of  the  mountains — Oh  ! 
How  beautiful  is  sunset,  when  the  glow 
Of  heaven  descends  upon  a  land  like  thee, 
Thou  paradise  of  exiles,  Italy  ! 
Thy  mountains,  seas,  and  vineyards,  and  the  towers 
Of  cities  they  encircle  ! — It  was  ours 
To  stand  on  thee,  beholding  it :  and  then, 
Just  where  we  had  dismounted,  the  Count's  men 
Were  waiting  for  us  with  the  gondola. 
As  those  who  pause  on  some  delightful  way, 
Though  bent  on  pleasant  pilgrimage,  we  stood 
Looking  upon  the  evening  and  the  flood, 
Which  lay  between  the  city  and  the  shore, 
Paved  with  the  image  of  the  sky  :  the  hoar 
And  airy  Alps,  towards  the  north,  appeared, 
Through  mist,  a  heaven-sustaining  bulwark,  reared 
Betweeen  the  east  and  west ;  and  half  the  sky 
Was  roofed  with  clouds  of  rich  emblazonry, 
Dark  purple  at  the  zenith,  which  still  grew 
Down  the  steep  west  into  a  wondrous  hue 
Brighter  than  burning  gold,  even  to  the  rent 
Where  the  swift  sun  yet  paused  in  his  descent 
Among  the  many-folded  hills — they  were 
Those  famous  Euganean  hills,  which  bear, 
As  seen  from  Lido  through  the  harbour  piles, 
The  likeness  of  a  clump  of  peaked  isles — 
And  then,  as  if  the  earth  and  sea  had  been 
Dissolved  into  one  lake  of  fire,  were  seen 
Those  mountains  towering,  as  from  waves  of  flame, 
Around  the  vaporous  sun,  from  which  there  came 
The  inmost  purple  spirit  of  light,  and  made 
Their  very  peaks  transparent.     "  Ere  it  fade," 
Said  my  companion,  "  I  will  show  you  soon 
A  better  station."     So,  o'er  the  lagune 
We  glided  ;  and  from  that  funereal  bark 


3S3 


384  JULIAN  AND  MADDALO. 

I  leaned,  and  saw  the  city,  and  could  mark 

How  from  their  many  isles  in  evening's  gleam, 

Its  temples  and  its  palaces  did  seem 

Like  fabrics  of  enchantment  piled  to  heaven. 

I  was  about  to  speak,  when — "  We  are  even 

Now  at  the  point  I  meant,"  said  Maddalo, 

And  bade  the  gondolieri  cease  to  row. 

"  Look,  Julian,  on  the  west,  and  listen  well 

If  you  hear  not  a  deep  and  heavy  bell.'' 

I  looked,  and  saw  between  us  and  the  sun 

A  building  on  an  island,  such  a  one 

As  age  to  age  might  add,  for  uses  vile, — 

A  windovvless,  deformed,  and  dreary  pile ; 

And  on  the  top  an  open  tower,  where  hung 

A  bell,  which  in  the  radiance  swayed  and  swung, 

We  could  just  hear  its  coarse  and  iron  tongue  : 

The  broad  sun  sank  behind  it,  and  it  tolled 

In  strong  and  black  relief. — "  What  we  behold 

Shall  be  the  madhouse  and  its  belfry  tower," — 

Said  Maddalo  ;  "  and  even  at  this  hour, 

Those  who  may  cross  the  water  hear  that  bell 

Which  calls  the  maniacs,  each  one  from  his  cell, 

To  vespers." — "  As  much  skill  as  need  to  pray, 

In  thanks  or  hope  for  their  dark  lot  have  they, 

To  their  stern  maker,"  I  replied. — "  O,  ho  ! 

You  talk  as  in  years  past,"  said  Maddalo. 

"  Tis  strange  men  change  not.     You  were  ever  still 

Among  Christ's  flock  a  perilous  infidel, 

A  wolf  for  the  meek  lambs  :  if  you  can't  swim, 

Beware  of  Providence."     I  looked  on  him, 

But  the  gay  smile  had  faded  from  his  eye. 

"  As  such,"  he  cried,  "  is  our  mortality ; 

And  this  must  be  the  emblem  and  the  sign 

Of  what  should  be  eternal  and  divine  : 

And  like  that  black  and  dreary  bell,  the  soul, 

Hung  in  a  heaven-illumined  tower  must  toll 

Our  thoughts  and  our  desires  to  meet  below 

Hound  the  rent  heart,  and  pray — as  madmen  do  : 

For  what  ?  they  know  not,  till  the  night  of  death, 

As  sunset  that  strange  vision,  severeth 

Our  memory  from  itself,  and  us  from  all 

We  sought,  ami  yet  were  baffled."     I  recall 

The  sense  of  what  he  said,  although  I  mar 

The  force  of  his  expressions.     The  broad  star 

Of  day  meanwhile  had  sunk  behind  the  hill  ; 

And  the  black  btll  became  invisible  ; 

And  the  red  tower  looked  grey  ;  and  all  between, 

The  churches,  ships,  and  palaces,  were  seen 

Huddled  in  gloom  ;  into  the  purple  sea 

The  orange  hues  of  heaven  sunk  silently. 


JULIAN  AND  MADDALO. 

We  hardly  spoke,  and  soon  the  gondola 
Conveyed  me  to  my  lodging  by  the  way. 

The  following  morn  was  rainy,  cold,  and  dim: 
Ere  Maddalo  arose  I  called  on  him, 
And  whilst  I  waited,  with  his  child  I  played  ; 
A  lovelier  toy  sweet  Nature  never  made  ; 
A  serious,  subtle,  wild,  yet  gentle  being; 
Graceful  without  design,  and  unforeseeing  ; 
With  eyes — Oh  !  speak  not  of  her  eyes !  which  seem 
Twin  mirrors  of  Italian  Heaven,  yet  gleam 
With  such  deep  meaning  as  we  never  see 
But  in  the  human  countenance.     With  me 
She  was  a  special  favourite  :   I  had  nursed 
Her  fine  and  feeble  limbs,  when  she  came  first 
To  this  bleak  world  ;  and  yet  she  seemed  to  know 
On  second  sight  her  ancient  playfellow,- 
Less  changed  than  she  was  by  six  months  or  so. 
For,  after  her  first  shyness  was  worn  out, 
We  sate  there,  rolling  billiard  balls  about, 
When  the  Count  entered.     Salutations  pass'd  : 
"  The  words  you  spoke  last  night  might  well  have  cast 
A  darkness  on  my  spirit : — if  roan  be 
The  passive  thing  you  say,  I  should  not  see 
Much  harm  in  the  religions  and  old  saws, 
( Tho'  /  may  never  own  such  leaden  laws) 
Which  break  a  teachless  nature  to  the  yoke  : 
Mine  is  another  faith," — Tints  much  I  spoke 
And,  noting  he  replied  not,  added — -"See 
This  lovely  child  ;   blithe,  innocent,  and  free  ; 
She  spends  a  happy  time,  with  little  care ; 
While  we  to  such  sick  thoughts  subjected  are, 
As  came  on  you  last  night.      It  is  our  will 
Which  thus  enchains  us  to  permitted  ill. 
We  might  be  otherwise  ;  we  might  be  all 
We  dream  of,  happy,  high,  majestical. 
Where  is  the  beauty,  love,  and  truth,  we  seek, 
But  in  our  minds  ?     Arid,  if  we  were  not  weak, 
Should  we  be  less  in  deed  than  in  desire  ?" — 
— "  Aye,  if  we  were  not  weak, — and  we  aspire, 
How  vainly  !  to  be  strong,"  said  Maddalo  : 
"  You  talk  Utopian" — 

"  It  remains  to  know," 
I  then  rejoined,  "and  those  who  try,  may  find 
How  strong  the  chains  are  which  our  spirit  bind  : 
Brittle  perchance  as  straw.     We  are  assured 
Much  may  be  conquered,  much  may  be  endured, 
Of  what  degrades  and  crushes  us.     We  know 
That  we  have  power  over  ourselves  to  do 


385 


386  JULIAN  AND  MADDALO. 

And  suffer — what,  we  know  not  till  we  try  ; 
But  something  nobler  than  to  live  and  die: 
So  taught  the  kings  of  old  philosophy, 
Who  reigned  before  religion  made  men  blind  ; 
And  those  who  suffer  with  their  suffering  kind, 
Yet  feel  this  faith,  religion." 

"  My  dear  friend," 
Said  Maddalo,  "  my  judgment  will  not  bend 
To  your  opinion,  though  I  think  you  might 
Make  such  a  system  refutation-tight, 
As  far  as  words  go.     I  knew  one  like  you, 
Who  to  this  city  came  some  months  ago, 
With  whom  I  argued  in  this  sort, — and  he 
Is  now  gone  mad — and  so  he  answered  me, 
Poor  fellow  ! — But  if  you  would  like  to  go, 
We'll  visit  him,  and  lvjjpwild  talk  will  shew 
How  vain  are  such  aspiring  theories." — 

"  I  hope  to  prove  the  induction  otherwise, 
And  that  a  want  of  that  true  theory  still, 
Which  seeks  a  soul  of  goodness  in  things  ill, 
Or  in  himself  or  others,  has  thus  bow'd 
His  being: — there  are  some  by  nature  proud, 
Who,  patient  in  all  else,  demand  but  this — ■ 
To  love  and  be  beloved  with  gentleness  : — 
And  being  scorned,  what  wonder  if  they  die 
Some  living  death  ?     This  is  not  destiny, 
But  man's  own  wilful  ill." 

As  thus  1  spoke, 
Servants  announced  the  gondola,  and  we 
Through  the  fast-falling  rain  and  high -wrought  sea, 
Sailed  to  the  island  where  the  madhouse  stands. 
We  disembarked.     The  clap  of  tortured  hands, 
Fierce  yells  and  bowlings,  and  lamentings  keen, 
And  laughter  where  complaint  had  merrier  been, 
Accosted  us.     We  climbed  the  oozy  stairs 
Into  an  old  court-yard.     I  heard  on  high, 
Then,  fragments  of  most  touching  melody, 
But  looking  up  saw  not  the  singer  there. — 
Through  the  black  bars  in  the  tempestuous  air 
I  saw,  like  weeds  on  a  wreck'd  palace  growing. 
Long  tangled  locks  flung  wildly  forth  and  flowing, 
Of  those  on  a  sudden  who  were  beguiled 
Into  strange  silence,  and  looked  forth  and  smiled, 
Hearing  sweet  sounds.     Then  I : — 

"  Methinks  there  were 
A  cure  of  these  with  patience  and  kind  care, 
If  music  can  thus  move.     But  what  is  he, 
Whom  we  seek  here  ?" 


JULIAN  AND  MADDALO. 

"  Of  his  sad  history 
I  know  but  this,"  said  Maddalo  ;  "  he  came 
To  Venice  a  dejected  man,  and  fame 
Said  he  was  wealthy,  or  he  had  been  so. 
Some  thought  the  loss  of  fortune  wrought  him  woe,    ■ 
But  he  was  ever  talking  in  such  sort 
As  you  do, — but  more  sadly; — he  seem'd  hurt, 
Even  as  a  man  with  his  peculiar  wrong, 
To  hear  but  of  the  oppression  of  the  strong, 
Or  those  absurd  deceits  ( I  think  with  you 
In  some  respects,  you  know)  which  carry  through 
The  excellent  impostors  of  this  earth 
W  hen  they  outface  detection.     He  had  worth, 
Poor  fellow  !  but  a  humourist  in  his  way." 

— "  Alas,  what  drove  him  mad  !" 

"  I  cannot  say : 
A  lady  came  with  him  from  France,  and  when 
She  left  him  and  returned,  he  wander'd  then 
About  yon  lonely  isles  of  desert  sand, 
Till  he  grew  wild.     He  had  no  cash  nor  land 
Remaining  : — the  police  had  brought  him  here — 
Some  fancy  took  him,  and  he  would  not  bear 
Removal,  so  I  fitted  up  for  him 
Those  roams  beside  the  sea,  to  please  his  whim  ; 
And  sent  him  busts,  and  books,  and  urns  for  flowers, 
Which  had  adorned  his  life  in  happier  hours, 
And  instruments  of  music.    You  may  guess 
A  stranger  could  do  little  more  or  less 
For  one  so  gentle  and  unfortunate — 
And  those  are  his  sweet  strains  which  charm  the  weight 
From  madmen's  chains,  and  make  this  hell  appear 
A  heaven  of  sacred  silence,  hushed  to  hear." 


387 


"  Nay,  this  was  kind  of  you, — he  had  no  claim, 
As  the  world  says." 

"  None  but  the  very  same 
■Which  I  on  all  mankind,  were  I,  as  he, 
Fall'n  to  such  deep  reverse.     His  melody 
Is  interrupted  now:  we  hear  the  din 
Of  madmen,  shriek  on  shriek,  again  begin: 
Let  us  now  visit  him  :  after  this  strain, 
He  ever  communes  with  himself  again, 
And  sees  and  hears  not  any." 

Having  said 
These  words,  we  called  the  keeper,  and  he  led 
To  an  apartment  opening  on  the  sea — 
There  the  pcor  wretch  was  sitting  mournfully 
Near  a  piano,  his  pale  lingers  twined 


388  JULIAN  AND  MADDALO. 

One  with  the  other  ;  and  the  ooze  and  wind 

Pushed  through  an  open  casement,  and  did  sway 

His  hair,  and  starred  it  with  the  brackish  spray: 

His  head  was  leaning  on  a  music-book, 

And  he  was  muttering;  and  his  lean  limbs  shook  ; 

His  lips  were  pressed  against  a  folded  leaf, 

In  hue  too  beautiful  for  health,  and  grief 

Smiled  in  their  motions  as  they  lay  apart 

As  one  who  wrought  from  his  own  fervid  heart 

The  eloquence  of  passion  :  soon  he  raised 

His  sad  meek  face,  and  eyes  lustrous  and  glazed, 

And  spoke, — sometimes  as  one  who  wrote  and  thought 

His  words  might  move  some  heart  that  heeded  not, 

If  sent  to  distant  land: — and  then  as  one 

Reproaching  deeds  never  to  be  undone, 

With  wondering  self-compassion  ;  then  his  speech 

Was  lost  in  grief,  and  then  his  words  came  each 

Unmodulated  and  expressionless, — 

But  that  from  one  jarred  accent  you  might  guess 

It  was  despair  made  them  so  uniform  : 

And  all  the  while  fhe  loud  and  gusty  storm 

Hissed  through  the  window,  and  we  stood  behind, 

Stealing  his  accents  from  the  envious  wind, 

Unseen.     I  yet  remember  what  he  said 

Distinctly,  such  impression  his  words  made. 

"  Month  after  month,"  he  cried,  "to  bear  this  load, 
And,  as  a  jade  urged  by  the  whip  and  goad, 
To  drag  life  on — which  like  a  heavy  chain 
Lengthens  behind  with  many  a  link  of  pain, 
And  not  to  speak  my  grief — O,  not  to  dare 
To  give  a  human  voice  to  my  despair ; 
But  live,  and  move,  and,  wretched  thing !  smile  on, 
As  if  I  never  went  aside  to  groan, 
And  wear  this  mask  of  falsehood  even  to  those 
Who  are  most  dear — not  for  my  own  repose. 
Alas  !  no  scorn,  nor  pain,  nor  hate,  could  be 
So  heavy  as  that  falsehood  is  to  me — 
But  that  I  cannot  bear  more  altered  faces 
Than  needs  must  be,  more  changed  and  cold  embraces, 
More  misery,  disappointment,  and  mistrust, 
To  own  me  for  their  father.     Would  the  dust 
Were  covered  in  upon  my  body  now  ! 
That  the  life  ceased  to  toil  within  my  brow! 
And  then  these  thoughts  would  at  die  last  be  fled  : 
Let  us  not  fear  such  pain  can  vex  the  dead. 

"  What  Power  delights  to  torture  us  ?     I  know 
That  to  myself  I  do  not  wholly  owe 
What  now  I  sutler,  though  in  part  I  may. 


JULIAN  AND  MADDALO.  3J 

Alas  !  none  strewed  fresh  flowers  unon  the  way 

Where,  wandering  heedlessly,  I  met  pale  Pain, 

My  shadow,  which  will  leave  me  not  again. 

If  I  have  erred,  there  was  no  joy  in  error, 

But  pain,  and  insult,  and  unrest,  and  terror; 

I  have  not,  as  some  do,  bought  penitence 

With  pleasure,  and  a  dark  yet  sweet  offence  ; 

For  then  if  love,  and  tenderness,  and  truth, 

Had  overlived  Hope's  momentary  youth, 

My  creed  should  have  redeemed  me  from  repenting  ; 

But  loathed  scorn  and  outrage  unrelenting 

Met  love  excited  by  far  other  seeming 

Until  the  end  was  gained: — as  one  from  dreaming 

Of  sweetest  peace,  I  woke,  and  found  my  state 

Such  as  it  is. — 

"  O  thou,  my  spirit's  mate    x 
Who,  for  thou  art  compassionate  and  wise, 
Wouldst  pity  me  from  thy  most  gentle  eyes 
If  this  sad  writing  thou  shouldst  ever  see  ; 
\Iy  secret  groans  must  be  unheard  by  thee, 
Thou  wouldst  weep  tears,  bitter  as  blood,  to  know 
Thy  lost  friend's  incommunicable  woe. 
Ye  few  by  whom  my  nature  has  been  weighed 
In  friendship,  let  me  not  that  name  degrade, 
By  placing  on  your  hearts  the  secret  load 
Which  crushes  mine  to  dust.     There  is  one  road 
To  peace,  and  that  is  truth,  which  follow  ye ! 
Love  sometimes  leads  astray  to  misery  ! 
Yet  think  not,  tho'  subdued  (and  I  may  well 
Say  that  I  am  subdued) — that  the  full  hell 
Within  me  would  infect  the  untainted  breast 
Of  sacred  nature  with  its  own  unrest ; 
As  some  perverted  being,  think  to  find 
In  scorn  or  hate  a  medicine  for  the  mind 
Which  scorn  or  hate  hath  wounded.  O,  how  vain  I 
The  dagger  heals  not,  but  may  rend  again. 
Believe  that  I  am  ever  still  the  same 
In  creed  as  in  resolve  ;  and  what  may  tame 
My  heart,  must  leave  the  understanding  free, 
Or  all  would  sink  under  this  agony — 
Nor  ttream  that  I  will  join  the  vulgar  eye, 
Or  with  my  silence  sanction  tyranny, 
Or  seek  a  moment's  shelter  from  my  pain 
In  any  madness  which  the  world  calls  gain  ; 
Ambition,  or  revenge,  or  thoughts  as  stern 
As  those  which  make  me  what  I  am„or  turn 
To  avarice  or  misanthrophy  or  lust. 
Heap  on  me  soon,  O  grave,  thy  welcome  dust! 
'Till  then  the  dungeon  may  demand  its  prey : 
And  Poverty  and  Shame  may  meet  and  say, 
Halting  beside  me,  in  the  public  way  — 


390  JULIAN  AND  MADDALO. 

'  That  love-devoted  youth  is  ours:  let's  sit 
Beside  him  :   he  may  live  some  six  months  yet,'— 
Or  the  red  scaffold,  as  our  country  bends, 
May  ask  some  willing  victim  ;  or  ye,  friends, 
May  fall  under  some  sorrow,  which  this  heart 
Or  hand  may  share,  or  vanquisher  avert : 
I  am  prepared,  in  truth,  with  no  proud  joy, 
To  do  or  suffer  aught,  as  when  a  boy 
1  did  devote  to  justice,  and  to  love, 
My  nature,  worthless  now. 

"  I  must  remove 
A  veil  from  my  pent  mind.      'Tis  torn  aside  ! 

0  !   pallid  as  Death's  dedicated  bride, 
Thou  mockery  which  art  sitting  by  my  side, 
Am  I  not  wan  like  thee  ?     At  the  grave's  call 

1  haste,  invited  to  thy  wedding-ball, 

To  meet  the  ghastly  paramour,  for  whom 
Thou  hast  deserted  me, — and  made  the  tomb 
Thy  bridal  bed.     But  I  beside  thy  feet 
Will  He,  and  watch  ye  from  my  winding-sheet 

Thus — wide  awake,  though  dead Yet  stay,  O  stay  I 

Go  not  so  soon — I  know  not  what  I  say — 
Hear  but  my  reasons — I  am  mad,  I  fear, 
My  fancy  is  o'erwrought — thou  art  not  here, 

Pale  art  thou,  'tis  most  true but  thou  art  gone — 

Thy  work  is  finished ;  I  am  left  alone. 

*  *  *  *  • 

"  Nay,  was  it  I  who  woo'd  thee  to  this  breast, 

Which  like  a  serpent  thou  envenomest, 

As  in  repayment  of  the  warmth  it  lent  1 

Didst  thou  not  seek  me  for  thine  own  content? 

Did  not  thy  love  awaken  mine  ?     I  thought 

That  thou  wert  she  who  said,  '  You  kiss  me  not 

Ever  ;  I  fear  you  do  not  love  me  now.' 

In  truth,  I  loved  even  to  my  overthrow 

Her,  who  would  fain  forget  these  words,  but  they 

Ckng  to  her  mind,  and  cannot  pass  away. 

***** 
"  You  say  that  I  am  proud ;  that  when  I  speak, 
My  lip  is  tortured  with  the  wrongs,  which  break 
The  spirit  it  expresses. — Never  one 
Humbled  himself  before,  as  I  have  done  ! 
Even  the  instinctive  worm  on  which  we  tread 
Turns,  though  it  wound  not — then,  with  prostrate  head, 
Sinks  in  the  dust,  and  writhes  like  me — and  dies  : 

No  : — wears  a  living  death  of  agonies  1 

As  the  slow  shadows  of  the  pointed  grass 
Mark  the  eternal  periods,  its  pangs  pass, 
Slow,  ever-moving,  making  moments  be 


JULIAN  AND  MADDALO.  391 

As  mine  seem, — each  an  immortality  ! 

***** 
"  That  you  had  never  seen  me  !  never  heard 
My  voice  !  and,  more  than  all,  had  ne'er  endured 
The  deep  pollution  of  my  loathed  embrace  ! 
That  your  eyes  ne'er  had  lied  love  in  my  face ! 
That,  like  some  maniac  monk,  I  had  torn  out 
The  nerves  of  manhood  by  their  bleeding  root 
With  mine  own  quivering  fingers  !  so  that  ne'er 
Our  hearts  had  for  a  moment  mingled  there, 
To  disunite  in  horror!     These  were  not 
With  thee  like  some  suppressed  and  hideous  thought, 
Which  flits  athwart  our  musings,  but  can  find 
No  rest  within  a  pure  and  gentle  mind — 
Thou  sealedst  them  with  many  a  bare  broad  word, 
And  sear'dst  my  memory  o'er  them — for  I  heard, 
And  can  forget  not — they  were  ministered, 
One  after  one,  those  curses.    Mix  them  up, 
Like  self-destroying  poisons,  in  one  cup  ; 
And  they  will  make  one  blessing,  which  thou  ne'er 
Didst  imprecate  for  on  me death  ! 

"  It  were 
A  cruel  punishment  for  one  most  cruel, 
If  such  can  lov .?,  to  make  that  love  the  fuel 
Of  the  mind's  hell— -hate,  scorn,  remorse,  despair; 
But  me,  whose  heart  a  stranger's  tear  might  wear, 
As  water-drops  the  sandy  fountain  stone  ; 
Who  loved  and  pitied  all  things,  and  could  moan 
For  woes  which  others  hear  not,  and  could  see 
The  absent  with  the  glass  of  phantasy, 
And  near  the  poor  and  trampled  sit  and  weep, 
Following  the  captive  to  his  dungeon  deep  ; 
Me,  who  am  as  a  nerve  o'er  which  do  creep 
The  else-unfelt  oppressions  of  this  earth, 
And  was  to  thee  the  flame  upon  thy  hearth, 
When  all  beside  was  cold  : — that  thou  on  me 
Shouldst  rain  these  plagues  of  blistering  agony- 
Such  curses  are  from  lips  once  eloquent 
With  love's  too  partial  praise  !     Let  none  relent 
Who  intend  deeds  too  dreadful  for  a  name 
Henceforth,  if  an  example  for  the  same 
They  seek  :  for  thou  on  me  lookedst  so  and  so, 
And  didst  speak  thus  and  thus.     I  live  to  shew 
How  much  men  bear,  and  die  not. 

"  Thou  wilt  tell, 
With  the  grimace  of  hate,  how  horrible 
It  was  to  meet  my  love  when  thine  grew  less  ; 
Thou  wilt  admire  how  I  could  e'er  address 
£4 


392  JULIAN  AND   MADDALO. 

Such  features  to  love's  work ....  This  taunt,  though  true, 
(For  indeed,  Nature  nor  in  form  nor  hue 
Bestowed  on  me  her  choicest  workmanship) 

Shall  not  be  thy  defence  :  for  since  thy  life 

.Met  mine  first,  years  long  past, — since  thine  eye  kindled 

With  soft  fire  under  mine, — I  have  not  dwindled, 

Nor  changed  in  mind,  or  body,  or  in  ought 

But  as  love  changes  what  it  loveth  not 

After  long  years  and  many  trials. 

•  »  *  *  * 

"How  vain 
Are  words  !   I  thought  never  to  speak  again, 
Not  even  in  secret,  not  to  my  own  heart — 
But  from  my  lips  the  unwilling  accents  start, 
And  from  my  pen  the  words  flow  as  I  write, 
Dazzling  my  eyes  with  scalding  tears— my  sight 
Is  dim  to  see  that  charactered  in  vain, 
On  this  unfeeling  leaf,  which  burns  the  brain 
And  eats  into  it,  blotting  all  things  fair, 
And  wise,  and  good,  which  time  had  written  there. 
Those  who  inflict  must  suffer,  for  they  see 
The  work  of  their  own  hearts,  and  that  must  be 
Our  chastisement  or  recompense. — O  child  ! 
I  would  that  thine  were  like  to  be  more  mild 
For  both  our  wretched  sakes, — for  thine  the  most, 
Who  feel'st  already  all  that  thou  hast  lost, 
Without  the  power  to  wish  it  thine  again. 
And,  as  slow  years  pass,  a  funereal  train, 
Each  with  the  ghost  of  some  lost  hope  or  friend 
Following  it  like  its  shadow,  wilt  thou  bend 
No  thought  on  my  dead  memory? 

"  Alas,  love! 
Fear  me  not :  against  thee  I'd  not  move 
A  finger  in  despite.     Do  I  not  live 
That  thou  mayst  have  less  bitter  cause  to  grieve  ? 
I  give  thee  tears  for  scorn,  and  love  for  hate  ; 
And,  that  thy  lot  may  be  less  desolate 
Than  his  on  whom  thou  tramplest,  I  refrain 
From  that  sweet  sleep  which  medicines  all  pain. 
Then,  when  thou  speakest  of  me,  never  say, 
'  He  could  forgive  not.' — Here  I  cast  away 
All  human  passions,  all  revenge,  all  pride; 
I  think,  speak,  act  no  ill  ;   I  do  but  hide 
Under  these  words,  like  embers,  every  spark 
Of  that  which  has  consumed  me.     Quick  and  dark 
The  grave  is  yawning  : — as  its  roof  shall  cover 
My  limbs  with  dust  and  worms,  under  and  over, 
So  let  oblivion  hide  this  grief.---The  air 
Closes  upon  my  accents,  as  despair 
Upon  my  heart — let  death  upon  my  care!" 


JULIAN  AND   MADDALO.  393 

He  ceased,  and  overcome,  leant  back  awhile  ; 
Then  rising,  with  a  melancholy  smile, 
Went  to  a  sofa,  and  lay  down,  and  slept 
A  heavy  sleep,  and  in  his  dreams  he  wept, 
And  muttered  some  familiar  name,  and  we 
Wept  without  shame  in  his  society. 
I  think  I  never  was  impress'd  so  much  ; 
The  man,  who  was  not,  must  have  lacked  a  touch 
Of  human  nature. — Then  we  linger'd  not, 
Although  our  argument  was  quite  forgot ; 
But,  calling  the  attendants,  went  to  dine 
At  Maddalo's: — yet  neither  cheer,  nor  wine, 
Could  give  us  spirits,  for  we  talked  of  him, 
And  nothing  else,  till  day-light  made  stars  dim. 
And  we  agreed  it  was  some  dreadful  ill 
Wrought  on  him  boldly,  yet  unspeakable, 
By  a  dear  friend  ;  some  deadly  change  in  love 
Of  one  vow'd  deeply  which  he  dreamed  not  of; 
For  whose  sake  he,  it  seemed,  had  fixed  a  blot 
Of  falsehood  in  his  mind,  which  flourish'd  not 
But  in  the  light  of  all-beholding  truth  ; 
And  having  stamped  this  canker  on  his  youth, 
She  had  abandoned  him  : — and  how  much  more 

Might  be  his  woe,  we  guessed  not : — he  had  store 

Of  friends  and  fortune  once,  as  we  could  guess 

From  his  nice  habits  and  his  gentleness: 

These  now  were  lost ;  it  were  a  grief  indeed 

If  he  had  changed  one  unsustaining  reed 

For  all  that  such. a  man  might  else  adorn. 

The  colours  of  his  mind  seemed  yet  unworn; 

For  the  wild  language  of  his  grief  was  high — 

Such  as  in  measure  were  called  poetry. 

And  I  remember  one  remark,  which  then 

Maddalo  made  :  he  said — "  Most  wretched  men 

Are  cradled  into  poetry  by  wrong  ; 

They  learn  in  suffering  what  they  teach  in  song." 

If  I  had  been  an  unconnected  man, 
I  from  the  moment  should  have  form'd  some  plan 
Never  to  leave  sweet  Venice ;  for  to  me 
It  was  delight  to  ride  by  the  lone  sea : 
And  then  the  town  is  silent ;  one  may  write 
Or  read  in  gondolas,  by  day  or  night, 
Having  the  little  brazen  lamp  alight, 
Unseen,  uninterrupted : — books  are  there, 
Pictures,  and  casts  from  all  those  statues  fair 
Which  were  twin-born  with  poetry ; — and  all 
We  seek  in  towns,  with  little  to  recall 
Regret  for  the  green  country  : — I  might  sit 
In  Maddalo's  great  palace  and  his  wit, 


804  JULIAN  AND   MADDALO. 

And  subtle  talk  would  cheer  the  winter  night, 

And  make  me  know  myself: — and  the  fire-light 

Would  flash  upon  our  faces,  till  the  day 

Might  dawn,  and  make  me  wonder  at  my  stay. 

But  I  had  friends  in  London  too.     The  chief 

Attraction  here  was  that  I  sought  relief 

From  the  deep  tenderness  that  maniac  wrought 

Within  me  :  'twas  perhaps  an  idle  thought, 

Eut  I  imagined  that  if,  day  by  day, 

I  watched  him,  and  seldom  went  away, 

And  studied  all  the  beatings  of  his  heart 

With  zeal,  as  men  study  some  stubborn  art 

For  their  own  good,  and  could  by  patience  find 

An  entrance  to  the  caverns  of  Ins  mind, 

I  might  reclaim  him  from  his  dark  estate. 

In  friendships  I  had  been  most  fortunate, 

Yet  never  saw  I  one  whom  I  would  call 

More  willingly  my  friend  : — and  this  was  all 

Accomplish'd  not ; — such  dreams  of  baseless  good 

Oft  come  and  go,  in  crowds  or  solitude, 

And  leave  no  trace  ! — but  what  I  now  design'd, 

Made,  for  long  years,  impression  on  my  mind. 

The  following  morning,  urged  by  my  affairs, 

I  left  bright  Venice. 

After  many  years, 
And  many  changes,  I  returned  ;  the  name 
Of  Venice,  and  its  aspect,  was  the  same ; 
But  Maddalo  was  travelling,  far  away, 
Among  the  mouniains  of  Armenia. 
His  dog  was  dead  :  his  child  had  now  become 
A  woman,  such  as  it  has  been  my  doom 
To  meet  with  few  ;  a  wonder  of  this  earth, 
Where  there  is  little  of  transcendent  worth — 
Like  one  of  Shakspeare's  women.     Kindly  she, 
And  with  a  manner  beyond  courtesy, 
Ileceiv'd  her  father's  friend  ;  and,  when  I  ask'd 
Of  the  lorn  maniac,  she  her  memory  task'd, 
And  told,  as  she  had  heard,  the  mournful  tale  : 
"That  the  poor  sufferer's  health  began  to  fail 
Two  years  from  my  departure  ;  but  that  then 
The  lady,  who  had  left  him,  came  again. 
Her  mien  had  been  imperious,  but  she  now 
Look'd  meek  ;  perhaps  remorse  had  brought  her  low. 
Her  coming  made  him  better  ;  and  they  stayed 
Together  at  my  father's, — for  I  played, 
As  I  remember,  with  the  lady's  shawl ; 
I  might  be  six  years  old  ; — But,  after  all, 
She  left  him." — 

"  Why  her  heart  must  have  been  tough; 
How  did  it  end?" 


JULIAN  AND  MAUDALO.  MS 

"  And  was  not  this  enough  ? 
They  met,  they  parted." 

"  Child,  is  there  no  more  ?" 

"  Something  within  that  interval,  wliich  bore 
The  stamp  of  why  they  parted,  how  they  met; — 
Yet,  if  thine  aged  eyes  disdain  to  wet 
Those  wrinkled  cheeks  with  youth's  remembcr'd  tears. 
Ask  me  no  more  ;  but  let  the  silent  years 
Be  closed  and  cered  over  their  memory, 
As  yon  mute  marble  where  their  corpses  lie." 
I  urged  and  questioned  still  ;  she  told  me  how 
All  happen'd — but  the  cold  world  shall  not  know. 

Rome,  May,  1819. 


END    OF   JULIAN    AND    MAt'UALO. 


THE  WITCH  OF  ATLAS, 


:nat  one  birth 
I  .r.ie, 
.  Truth,  had  hunted  from  1 

::h  adorned  its  prime, 
And;;:':     -  .- :.-  believe  in,  worth 

The  pains  of  putting-  into  learned  rhyme, 
A  lady  -witch  there  lived  on  Atlas'  mountain, 
Within  a  cavern  by  a  secret  fountain, 

af  the  Atlantides  : 
I  gS  m  had  ne'er  beholden 

In  his  wide  voyage  o'er  continents  and  seas 

So  :";.  :  .  ..y  enfolden 

In  the  warm  shadow  ess; — 

He  kissed  her  with  .  made  all  golden 

rock  in  which  she  lay — 
She,  in  :        h   _.      Fj  ny,  dissolved  away. 

lis  said    5 1  e  ^vas  first  changed  into  a  vapour, 
- .     .  :  r.en  into  a  dan  -  is  fiit, 

Like  splendour-winged  moths  about  a  taper. 
Round  the  red  west  when  the  sun  dies  in  it : 

And  then  into  a  meteor,  such  £5  :      :: 
On  hill-tops  when  the  moon  is  in  a  fit ; 
r  ;:ars 

Which  hide  themselves  between  the  Earth  and  Mars. 

Tea  ::— es  the  Mother  of  the  Months  had  bent 
Her  bow  beside  the  folding  star,  and  bidden 

.:  bright  sign  the  billows  to  indent 
The  sea-deserted  sand ;  like  children  ch:  ; 

At  her  command  they  ever  came  and  went: — 
Since  in  n 1  :  or  hidden, 

I :       shape  and  motion ;  with  the  living  form 

Of  this  embodied  Power,  the  cave  grew  warm. 

■"  lady  garmented  in  light 
Fr:m  her  own  beauty — deep  her  eyes,  as  are 
-  at  unfathomable  night 

Seen  through  :f : — her  hair 

I       — the  dim  bran 
- 

■ 


THE  WITCH  OF  ATLAS.  397 

And  first  the  spotted  camel-leopard  came, 

Arid  then  the  wise  and  fearless  elephant  ; 
Then  the  sly  serpent,  in  the  golden  flame 

Of  his  own  volumes  intervolved  ; — all  gaunt 
And  sanguine  beasts  her  gentle  looks  made  tame. 

They  drank  before  her  at  her  sacred  fount ; 
And  every  beast  of  beating  heart  grew  bold, 
Such. gentleness  and  power  even  to  behold. 

The  brindled  lioness  led  forth  her  young, 

That  she  might  teach  them  how  they  should  forego 

Their  inborn  thirst  of  death  ;  thepard  unstrung 
His  sinews  at  her  feet,  and  sought  to  know 

With  looks  whose  motions  spoke  without  a  tongue 
How  he  might  be  as  gentle  as  the  doe. 

The  magic  circle  of  her  voice  and  eyes 

All  savage  natures  did  imparadise. 

And  old  Silenus,  shaking  a  green  stick 

Of  lilies,  and  the  wood-gods  in  a  crew 
Came,  blithe,  as  in  the  olive  copses  thick, 

Cicadae  are,  drunk  with  the  noonday  dew  : 
And  Driope  and  Faunus  followed  quick, 

Teazing  the  God  to  sing  them  something  new, 
Till  in  this  cave  they  found  the  lady  lone, 
Sitting  upon  a  seat  of  emerald  stone. 

And  universal  Pan,  'tis  said,  was  there, 

And  though  none  saw  him, — through  the  adamant 

Of  the  deep  mountains,  through  the  trackless  air, 
And  through  those  living  spirits,  like  a  want 

Hepass'd  out  of  his  everlasting  lair 

Where  the  quick  heart  of  the  great  world  doth  pant 

And  felt  that  wondrous  lady  alone, — 

And  she  felt  him  upon  her  emerald  throne. 

And  every  nymph  of  stream  and  spreading  tree, 

And  every  shepherdess  of  Ocean's  flocks, 
Who  drives  her  white  waves  over  the  green  sea ; 

And  Oceans,  with  the  brine  onhis  grey  locks, 
And  quaint  Priapus  with  his  company 

All  came, much  wondering  how  the  enwombed  rocks 
Could  have  brought  forth  so  beautiful  a  birth  : — 
Her  love  subdued  their  wonder  and  their  mirth. 

The  herdsmen  and  the  mountain  maidens  came, 

And  the  rude  kings  of  pastoral  Garamant — 
Their  spirits  shook  within  them,  as  a  flame 

Stirred  by  the  air  under  a  cavern  gaunt; 
Pigmies,  and  Polyphemes,  by  many  a  name. 

Centaurs,  and  Satyrs,  and  such  shapes  as  haunt 
Wet  clefts, — and  lumps  neither  alive  nor  dead, 
Dog-headed,  bosom-eyed,  and  biri-footei. 


308  THE  WITCH  OF  ATLAS. 

For  she  was  beautiful :  her  beauty  made 

The  bright  world  dim,  and  every  thing  beside 

Seemed  like  the  fleeting  image  of  a  shade: 
No  thought  of  living  spirit  could  abide, 

Which  to  her  looks  had  ever  been  betrayed, 
On  any  object  in  the  world  so  wide, 

On  any  hope  within  the  circling  skies, 

But  on  her  form,  and  in  her  inmost  eyes. 

Which  when  the  lady  knew,  she  took  her  spindle 
And  twined  three  threads  of  fleecy  mist,  and  three 

Long  lines  of  light,  such  as  the  dawn  may  kindle 
The  clouds,  and  waves  and  mountains  with,  and  she 

As  many  star-beams,  ere  their  lamps  could  dwindle 
In  the  belated  moon,  wound  skilfully; 

And  with  these  threads  a  subtle  veil  she  wove — 

A  shadow  for  the  splendour  of  her  love. 

The  deep  recesses  of  her  odorous  dwelling 

Were  stored  with  magic  treasures — sounds  of  air, 

Which  had  the  power  all  spirits  of  compelling, 
Folded  in  cells  of  crystal  silence  there  ; 

Such  as  we  hear  in  youth,  and  think  the  feeling 
Will  never  die — yet  ere  we  are  aware, 

The  feeling  and  the  sound  are  fled  and  gone, 

And  the  regret  they  leave  remains  alone. 

And  there  lay  visions  swift,  and  sweet,  and  quaint, 
Each  in  his  thin  sheath  like  a  chrysalis  : 

Some  eager  to  burst  forth,  some  weak  and  faint 
With  the  soft  burthen  of  intensest  bliss  : 

It  is  its  work  to  bear  to  many  a  saint 

Whose  heart  adores  the  shrine  which  holiest  is, 

Even  Love's — and  others  white,  green,  grey  and  black, 

And  of  all  shapes — and  each  was  at  her  beck. 

And  odours,  in  a  kind  of  aviary 

Of  ever- blooming  Eden-trees  she  kept, 
Clipt  in  a  floating  net,  a  love-sick  Fairy 

Had  woven  from  dew-beams  while  the  moon  yet  slept, 
As  bats  at  the  wired  window  of  a  dairy, 

They  beat  their  vans;  and  each  was  an  adept, 
When  loosed  and  missioned,  making  wings  of  winds, 
To  stir  sweet  thoughts,  or  sad,  in  destined  minds. 

And  liquors  clear  and  sweet,  whose  healthful  might 
Could  medicine  the  sick  soul  to  happy  sleep, 

And  change  eternal  death  into  a  night 

Of  glorious  dreams — or  if  eyes  needs  must  weep, 

Could  make  their  tears  all  wonder  and  delight, 
She  in  her  crystal  vials  did  closely  keep  : 

If  men  could  drink  of  those  clear  vials,  'tis  said 

Theli  ving  were  not  envied  of  the  dead. 


THE  WITCH  OF  ATLAS.  399 

Her  cave  was  stored  with  scrolls  of  strange  device, 

The  works  of  some  Saturnian  Archimage, 
Which  taught  the  expiations  at  whose  price 

Men  from  the  Gods  might  win  that  happy  age 
Too  lightly  lost,  redeeming  native  vice; 

And  which  might  quench  the  earth-consuming  rage 
Of  gold  a-,d  'jJrod — till  men  should  live  and  move 
Harmonious  as  the  sacred  stars  above. 

And  how  all  things  that  seem  untameable, 

Not  to  be  checked  and  not  to  be  confined, 
Obey  the  spells  of  wisdom's  wizard  skill ; 

Time,  Karth,  and  Fire — the  Ocean  and  the  Wind, 
And  all  their  shapes — and  man's  imperial  will ; 

And  other  scrolls  whose  writings  did  unbind 
The  inmost  lore  of  Love — let  the  profane 
Tremble  to  ask  what  secrets  they  contain. 

And  wondrous  works  of  substances  unknown, 
To  which  the  enchantment  of  her  fathers  power 

Had  changed  those  ragged  blocks  of  savage  stone, 
Were  heaped  in  the  recesses  of  her  bower  : 

Carved  lamps  and  chalices,  and  phials  which  shone 
In  their  own  golden  beams — each  like  a  flower, 

Out  of  whose  depth  a  fire-fly  shakes  his  light 

Under  a  cypress  in  a  starless  night. 

At  first  she  lived  alone  in  this  wild  home, 

And  her  thoughts  were  each  a  minister, 
Clothing  themselves,  or  with  the  ocean-foam, 

Or  with  the  wind,  or  with  the  speed  of  fire, 
To  work  whatever  purposes  might  come 

Into  her  mind  :  such  power  her  mighty  Sire 
Had  girt  them  with,  whether  to  fly  or  run, 
Through  all  the  regions  which  he  shines  upon. 

The  Ocean-nymphs  and  Hamadryades, 

Oreads  and  Naiads  with  long  weedy  locks, 
Offered  to  do  her  bidding  through  the  seas, 

Under  the  earth,  and  in  the  hollow  rocks, 
And  far  beneath  the  matted  roots  of  trees, 

And  in  the  gnarled  heart  of  stubborn  oaks, 
So  they  might  live  for  ever  in  the  light 
Of  her  sweet  presence — each  a  satellite. 

This  may  not  be,"  the  wizard  maid  replied ; 

"  The  fountains  where  the  Naiades  bedew 
Their  shining  hair,  at  length  are  drained  and  dried  ; 

The  so. id  oaks  forget  their  strength,  and  strew 
Their  latest  leaf  upon  the  mountains  wide ; 

The  boundless  ocean,  like  a  drop  of  dew 
Will  be  consumed — the  stubborn  centre  must 
Be  scattered,  like  a  cloud  of  summer  dust. 


400  THE  WITCH  OF  ATLAS. 

'And  ye  with  them  will  perish  one  hy  one  : 
If  I  must  sigb  to  think  that  this  shall  be, 

If  I  must  weep  when  the  surviving  Sun 
Shall  smile  on  your  decay — Oh,  ask  not  me 

To  love  you  till  your  little  race  is  run; 
I  cannot  die  as  ye  must — over  me 

Your  leaves  shall  glance— the  streams  in  which  ye  dwell 

Shall  be  my  paths  henceforth,  and  so  farewell!" 

She  spoke  and  wept:  the  dark  and  azure  well 
Sparkled  beneath  the  shower  of  her  bright  tears, 

And  every  little  circlet  where  they  fell, 

Flung  to  the  cavern-roof  inconstant  spheres 

And  intertangled  lines  of  light: — a  knell 
Of  sobbing  voices  came  upon  her  ears 

From  those  departing  Forms,  o'er  the  serene 

Of  the  white  streams  and  of  the  forest  green. 

All  day  the  wizard  lady  sat  aloof, 

Spelling  out  scrolls  of  dread  antiquity, 
Under  the  cavern's  fountain-lighted  roof; 

Or  broidering  the  pictured  poesy 
Of  some  high  tale  upon  her  growing  woof, 

Which  the  sweet  splendour  of  her  smiles  could  dye 
In  hues  outshining  heaven — and  ever  she 
Added  some  grace  to  the  wrought  poesy. 

While  on  her  hearth  lay  blazing  many  a  piece 

Of  sandal  wood,  rare  gums,  and  cinnamon  ; 
Men  scarcely  know  how  beautiful  five  is, 

Each  flame  of  it  is  as  a  precious  stone 
Dissolved  in  ever-moving  light,  and  this 

Belongs  to  each  and  all  who  gaze  upon. 
The  Witch  beheld  it  not,  for  in  her  hand 
She  held  a  woof  that  dimmed  the  burning  brand. 
This  lady  never  slept,  but  lay  in  trance 

All  night  within  the  fountain — as  in  sleep. 
Its  emerald  crags  glowed  in  her  beauty's  glance  : 

Through  the  green  splendour  of  the  water  deep 
She  saw  the  constellations  reel  and  dance 

Like  fire- flies — and  withal  did  ever  keep 
The  tenor  of  her  contemplations  calm, 
With  open  eyes,  closed  feet,  and  folded  palm. 
And  when  the  whirlwinds  and  the  clouds  descended 

From  the  white  pinnacles  of  that  cold  hill, 
She  pass'd  at  dew-fall  to  a  space  extended, 

Where  in  a  lawn  of  flowering  asphodel 
Amid  a  wood  of  pines  and  cedars  blended, 

There  yawned  an  inextinguishable  well 
Of  crimson  fire,  full  even  to  the  brim, 
And  overflowing  all  the  margin  trim. 


THE  WITCH  OF  ATLAS. 

Within  the  which  she  lay,  when  the  fierce  war 
Of  wintry  winds  shook  that  innocuous  liquor 

In  many  a  mimic  moon  and  bearded  star, 

O'er  woods  and  lawns — the  serpent  heard  it  nicker 

In  sleep,  and  dreaming  still,  he  crept  afar — 
And  when  the  windless  snow  descended  thicker 

Than  autumn  leaves,  she  watched  it  as  it  came, 

Melt  on  the  surface  of  the  level  flame. 

She  had  a  Boat  which  some  say  Vulcan  wrought 

For  Venus,  as  the  chariot  of  her  star ; 
But  it  was  found  too  feeble  to  be  fraught 

With  all  the  ardours  in  that  sphere  which  are, 
And  so  she  sold  it,  and  Apollo  bought 

And  gave  it  to  this  daughter  :  from  a  car 
Changed  to  the  fairest  and  the  lightest  boat 
Which  ever  upon  mortal  stream  did  float. 

And  others  say,  that,  when  but  three  hours  old, 
The  first-born  Love  out  of  his  cradle  leapt, 

And  clove  dun  Chaos  with  his  wings  of  gold, 
And  like  a  horticultural  adept, 

Stole  a  strange  seed,  and  wrapt  it  up  in  mould, 
And  sowed  it  in  his  mother's  star,  and  kept 

Watering  it  all  the  summer  with  sweet  dew, 

And  with  his  wings  fanning  it  as  it  grew. 

The  plant  grew  strong  and  green — the  snowy  flower 
Fell,  and  the  long  and  gourd-like  fruit  began 

To  turn  the  light  and  dew  by  inward  power 
To  its  own  substance  :  woven  tracery  ran 

Of  light  firm  texture,  ribbed  and  branching,  o'er 
The  solid  rind,  like  a  leaf's  veined  fan, 

Of  which  Love  scooped  this  boat,  and  with  soft  motion 

Piloted  it  round  the  circumfluous  ocean. 

This  boat  she  moored  upon  her  fount,  and  lit 

A  living  spirit  within  all  its  frame, 
Breathing  the  soul  of  swiftness  into  it. 

Couched  on  the  fountain  like  a  panther  tame, 
One  of  the  twain  at  Evan's  feet  that  sit ; 

Or  as  on  Vesta's  sceptre  a  swift  flame, 
Or  on  blind  Homer's  heart  a  winged  thought, — 
In  joyous  expectation  lay  the  boat. 

Then  by  strange  art  she  kneaded  fire  and  snow 
Together,  tempering  the  repugnant  mass 

With  liquid  love — all  things  together  grow 
Through  which  the  harmony  of  love  can  pass  ; 

And  a  fair  shape  out  of  her  hands  did  flow 
A  living  Image,  which  did  far  surpass 


402  THE  WITCH  OF  ATLAS. 

In  beauty  that  bright  shape  of  vital  stone 
Which  drew  the  heart  out  of  Pygmalion. 

A  sexless  tiling  it  was,  and  in  its  growth 

It  seemed  to  have  developed  no  defect 
Of  either  sex,  yet  all  the  grace  of  both, — 

In  gentleness  and  strength  its  limbs  were  decked  ; 
The  bosom  lightly  swelled  with  its  full  youth, 

The  countenance  was  such  as  might  select 
Some  artist  that  his  skill  should  never  die, 
Imaging  forth  such  perfect  purity. 

From  its  smooth  shoulders  hung  two  rapid  wings, 

Fit  to  have  borne  it  to  the  seventh  sphere, 
Tipt  with  the  speed  of  liquid  lightnings, 

Dyed  in  the  ardours  of  the  atmosphere : 
She  led  her  creature  to  the  boiling  springs 

Where  the  light  boat  was  moored, — and  said — "Sit  here  V 
And  pointed  to  the  prow,  and  took  her  seat 
Beside  the  rudder  with  opposing  feet. 

And  down  the  streams  which  clove  those  mountains  vast 

Around  their  inland  islets,  and  amid 
The  panther-peopled  forests,  whose  shade  cast 

Darkness  and  odours,  and  a  pleasure  hid 
In  melancholy  gloom,  the  pinnace  pass'd  ; 

By  many  a  star-surrounded  pyramid 
Of  icy  crag  cleaving  the  purple  sky, 
And  caverns  yawning  round  unfathomably. 

The  silver  noon  into  that  winding  dell, 

With  slanted  gleam  athwart  the  forest  tops, 

Tempered  like  golden  evening,  feebly  fell ; 

A  green  and  glowing  light,  like  that  which  drops 

From  folded  lilies  in  which  glow-worms  dwell, 
When  earth,  over  her  face  night's  mantle  wraps; 

Between  the  severed  mountains  lay  on  high 

Over  the  stream,  a  narrow  rift  of  sky. 

And  ever  as  she  went,  the  Image  lay 

With  folded  wings  and  unawakened  eyes; 
And  o'er  its  gentle  countenance  did  play 

The  busy  dreams,  as  thick  as  summer  flics, 
Chasing  the  rapid  smiles  that  would  not  stay, 

And  drinking  the  warm  tears,  and  the  sweet  sighs 
Inhaling,  which,  with  busy  murmur  vain, 
They  had  aroused  from  that  full  heart  and  brain. 

And  ever  down  the  prone  vale,  like  a  cloud 

Upon  a  stream  of  wind,  the  pinnace  went : 
Now  lingering  on  the  pools,  in  which  abode 


THE  WITCH  OF  ATLAS.  403 

The  calm  and  darkness  of  the  deep  content 
In  which  they  paused  ;  now  o'er  the  shallow  road 

Of  white  and  dancing  waters,  all  besprent 
Willi  sand  and  polished  pebbles  ; — mortal  boat 
In  such  a  shallow  rapid  could  not  float. 

And  down  the  earthquaking  cataracts  which  shiver 

Their  snow-like  waters  into  golden  air, 
Or  under  chasms  unfathomable  ever 

Sepulchre  them,  till  in  their  rage  they  tear 
A  subterranean  portal  for  the  river, 

It  fled — the  circling  sunbows  did  upbear 
Its  fall,  down  the  hoar  precipice  of  spray, 
Lighting  it  far  upon  its  lampless  way. 

And  when  the  wizard  lady  would  ascend 

The  labyrinths  of  some  many-winding  vale, 
Which  to  the  inmost  mountain  upward  tend — 

She  called  "  Hermaphroditus  !"  and  the  pale 
And  heavy  hue  which  slumber  could  extend 

Over  its  lips  and  eyes,  as  on  the  gale 
A  rapid  shadow  from  a  slope  of  grass, 
Into  the  darkness  of  the  stream  did  pass. 

And  it  unfurled  its  heaven-coloured  pinions, 
With  stars  of  fire  spotting  the  stream  below  ; 

And  from  above  into  the  Sun's  dominions 
Flinging  a  glory,  like  the  golden  glow 

In  which  spring  clothes  her  emerald-winged  minions, 
All  interwoven  with  fine  feathery  snow 

And  moonlight  splendour  of  in  tensest  rime, 

With  which  frost  paints  the  pines  in  winter  time. 

And  then  it  winnowed  the  Elysian  air 

Which  ever  hung  about  that  lady  bright, 
With  its  ethereal  vans— and  speeding  there, 

Like  a  star  up  the  torrent  of  the  night, 
Or  a  swift  eagle  in  the  morning  glare 

Breasting  the  whirlwind  with  impetuous  flight; 
The  pinnace,  oared  by  those  enchanted  wings, 
Clove  the  fierce  streams  towards  their  upper  springs. 

The  water  flashed  like  sunlight,  by  the  prow 
Of  a  noon- wandering  meteor  flung  to  Heaven  ; 

The  still  air  seemed  as  if  its  waves  did  flow 

In  tempest  down  the  mountains, — loosely  driven 

The  lady's  radiant  hair  streamed  to  and  fro  ; 
Beneath,  the  billows,  having  vainly  striven 

Indignant  and  impetuous,  roared  to  feel 

The  swift  and  steady  motion  of  the  keel. 

Or,  when  the  weary  moon  was  in  the  wane, 
Or  in  the  noon  of  interlunar  night, 


404  THE  WITCH  OF  ATLAS. 

The  lady-witch  in  visions  could  not  chain 
Her  spirit ;  hut  sailed  forth  under  the  light 

Of  shooting  stars,  and  bade  extend  amain 

His  storm-outspeeding  wings,  th'  Hermaphrodite; 

She  to  the  Austral  waters  took  her  way, 

Beyond  the  fabulous  Thamondocona. 

Where,  like  a  meadow  which  no  scythe  has  shaven, 
Which  rain  could  never  bend,  or  whirl-blast  shake, 

With  the  Antarctic  constellations  paven, 

Canopus  and  his  crew,  lay  th'  Austral  lake — 

There  she  would  build  herself  a  windless  haven 
Out  of  the  clouds,  whose  moving  turrets  make 

The  bastions  of  the  storm,  when  through  the  sky 

The  spirits  of  the  tempest  thundered  by. 

A  haven,  beneath  whose  translucent  floor 
The  tremulous  stars  sparkled  unfathomably, 

And  around  which,  the  solid  vapours  hoar, 
Based  on  the  level  waters,  to  the  sky 

Lifted  their  dreadful  crags;  and  like  a  shore 
Of  wintry  mountains,  inaccessibly 

Hemmed  in  with  rifts  and  precipices  grey, 

And  hanging  crags,  many  a  cove  and  bay. 

And  whilst  the  outer  lake  beneath  the  lash 

Of  the  winds'  scourge,  foamed  like  a  wounded  thing  | 

And  the  incessant  hail  with  stony  clash 

Ploughed  up  the  waters,  and  the  flagging  wing 

Of  the  roused  cormorant  in  the  lightning  flash 
Looked  like  the  wreck  of  some  wind-wandering 

Fragment  of  inky  thunder  smoke — this  haven 

Was  as  a  gem  to  copy  Heaven  engraven, 

On  which  that  lady  played  her  many  pranks, 

Circling  the  image  of  a  shooting  star, 
Even  as  a  tyger  on  Hvdaspes'  banks 

Outspeeds  the  Anteiopes,  which  speediest  are, 
In  her  light  boat ;  and  many  quips  ana  cranus 

She  played  upon  the  water  ;  till  the  car 
Of  the  late  moon,  like  a  sick  matron  wan, 
To  journey  from  the  misty  east  began. 

And  then  she  called  out  of  the  hollow  turrets 

Of  those  high  clouds,  white,  golden,  and  vermilion, 

The  armies  of  her  ministering  spirits — 
In  mighty  legions,  million  after  million 

They  came,  each  troop  emblazoning  its  merits 
On  meteor  flags  ;  and  many  a  proud  pavilion, 

Of  the  intertexture  of  the  atmosphere, 

They  pitched  upon  the  plain  of  the  calm  mere. 


THE  WITCH  OF  ATLAS.  405 

They  framed  the  imperial  tent  of  their  great  Queen 

Of  woven  exhalations,  underlaid 
With  lambent  lightning-fire,  as  may  be  seen 

A  dome  of  thin  and  open  ivory  inlaid 
With  crimson  silk — -cressets  from  the  serene 

Hung  there,  and  on  the  water  for  her  tread, 
A  tapestry  of  fleece-like  mist  was  strewn, 
Dyed  in  the  beams  of  the  ascending  moon. 

Atid  on  a  throne  o'erlaid  with  star-light,  caught 

Upon  those  wandering  isles  ef  aery  dew, 
Which  highest  shoals  of  mountain  shipwreck  not, 

She  sate,  and  heard  all  that  had  happened  new 
Between  the  earth  and  moon,  since  they  had  brought 

The  last  intelligence — and  now  she  grew 
Pale  as  that  moon,  lost  in  the  watery  rught— 
And  now  she  wept,  and  now  she  laughed  outright. 

These  were  tame  pleasures. — She  would  often  climb 

The  steepest  ladder  of  the  crudded  rack 
Up  to  some  beaked  cape  of  cloud  sublime, 

And  like  Arion  on  the  dolphin's  back   • 
Ride  singing  through  the  shoreless  air.     Oft  time 

Following  the  serpent  lightning's  winding  track, 
She  ran  upon  the  platforms  of  the  wind, 
And  laughed  to  hear  the  fire-balls  roar  behind. 

And  sometimes  to  those  streams  of  upper  air, 

Which  whirl  the  earth  in  its  diurnal  round. 
She  would  ascend,  and  win  the  spirits  there, 

To  let  her  join  their  chorus.     Mortals  found 
That  on  those  days  the  sky  was  calm  and  fair, 

And  mystic  snatches  of  harmonious  sound 
Wandered  upon  the  earth  where'er  she  pass'd, 
And  happy  thoughts  of  hope,  too  sweet  to  last. 

But  her  choice  sport  was,  in  the  hours  of  sleep, 

To  glide  adown  old  Nilus,  when  he  threads 
Egypt  and  .■Ethiopia,  from  the  steep 

Of  utmost  Axume,  until  he  spreads, 
Like  a  calm  flock  of  silver-fleeced  sheep, 

His  waters  on  the  plain  :  and  crested  heads 
Of  cities  and  proud  temples  gleam  amid, 
And  many  a  vapour-belted  pyramid. 

By  Mceris  and  the  Mareotid  lakes, 

Strewn  with  faint  blooms  like  bridal  chamber  floors  ; 
Where  naked  boys,  bridling  tame  water-snakes, 

Or  charioteering  ghastly  alligators, 
Had  left  on  the  sweet  waters  mighty  wakes 

Of  those  huge  forms  : — within  the  brazen  doors 


406  THE  WITCH  OF  ATLAS. 

Of  the  great  Labyrinth  slept  both  hoy  and  beast, 
Tired  with  the  pomp  of  their  Osirian  feast. 

And  where,  within  the  surface  of  the  river, 
The  shadows  of  the  massy  temples  lie, 

And  never  are  erased — but  tremble  ever 

Like  things  which  every  cloud  can  doom  to  die, 

Through  lotus-paven  canals,  and  wheresoever 
The  works  of  man  pierced  that  serenest  sky 

With  tombs,  and  towers,  and  fanes,  'twas  her  delight 

To  wander  in  the  shadow  of  the  night, 

With  motion,  like  the  spirit  of  that  wind 

Whose  soft  step  deepens  slumber,  her  light  feet 

Past  through  the  peopled  haunts  of  human  kind, 
Scattering  sweet  visions  from  her  presence  sweet, 

Through  fane  and  palace-court  and  labyrinth  mined 
With  many  a  dark  and  subterranean  street 

Under  the  Nile  ;  through  chambers  high  and  deep 

She  past,  observing  mortals  in  their  sleep. 

A  pleasure  sweet,  doubtless,  it  was  to  see 
Mortals  subdued  in  all  the  shapes  of  sleep. 

Here  lay  two  sister-twins  in  infancy  : 

There,  a  lone  youth  who  in  his  dreams  did  weep  ; 

Within,  two  lovers  linked  innocently 

In  their  loose  locks  which  over  both  did  creep 

Like  ivy  from  one  stem  ; — and  there  lay  calm, 

Old  age  with  snow-bright  hair  and  folded  palm. 

But  other  troubled  forms  of  sleep  she  saw, 

Not  to  be  mirrored  in  a  holy  song, 
Distortions  foul  of  supernatural  awe, 

And  pale  imaginings  of  visioned  wrong, 
And  all  the  code  of  custom's  lawless  law 

Written  upon  the  brows  of  old  and  young  : 
"This,"  said  the  wizard  maiden,  "is  the  strife 
Which  stirs  the  liquid  surface  of  man's  life." 

And  little  did  the  sight  disturb  her  soul — 
We,  the  weak  mariners  of  that  wide  lake 

Where'er  its  shores  extend  or  billows  roll, 
Our  course  unpiloted,  and  starless  make 

O'er  its  wide  surface  to  an  unknown  goal, — 
But  she  in  the  calm  depths  her  way  could  take, 

Where  in  bright  bowers  immortal  forms  abide, 

Beneath  the  weltering  of  the  restless  tide. 

And  she  saw  princes  couched  under  the  glow 
Of  sunlike  gems  ;  and  round  each  temple-court 

In  dormitories  ranged,  row  after  row, 

She  saw  the  priests  asleep, — all  of  one  sort. 


THE  WITCH  OF  ATLAS.  407 

For  all  were  educated  to  be  so. — 

The  peasants  in  their  huts,  and  in  the  port 
The  sailors  she  saw  cradled  on  the  waves, 
And  the  dead  lulled  within  their  dreamless  graves. 

And  all  the  forms  in  which  those  spirits  lay, 

Were  to  her  6ight  like  the  diaphanos 
Veils,  in  which  those  sweet  ladies  oft  array 

Their  delicate  limbs,  who  would  conceal  from  ua 
Only  their  scorn  of  all  concealment :  they 

Move  in  the  light  of  their  own  beauty  thus. 
But  these,  and  all  now  lay  with  sleep  upon  them, 
And  little  thought  a  Witch  was  looking  on  them. 

She  all  those  human  figures  breathing  there 

Beheld  as  living  spirits — to  her  eyes 
The  naked,  beauty  of  the  soul  lay  bare, 

And  often  through  a  rude  and  worn  disguise 
She  saw  the  inner  form  most  bright  and  fair — 

And  then, — she  had  a  charm  of  strange  device 
Which  murmured  on  mute  lips  with  tender  tone 
Could  make  that  spirit  mingle  with  her  own. 

Alas,  Aurora !  what  wouldst  thou  have  given 
For  such  a  charm,  when  Tithon  became  grey  ? 

Or  how  much,  Venus,  of  thy  silver  heaven 
Wouldst  thou  have  yi elded,  ere  Proseroina 

Had  half  (oh  !  why  not  all '.')  the  debt  rorgiven 
Which  dear  Adonis  had  been  doomed  to  pay, 

To  any  witch  who  would  have  taught  you  it  ? 

The  Heliad  doth  not  know  its  value  yet. 

'  Tis  said  in  after  times  her  spirit  free 

Knew  what  love  was,  and  felt  itself  alone — 
But  holy  Dian  could  not  chaster  be 

Before  she  stooped  to  kiss  Endymion, 
Than  now  this  lady — like  a  sexless  bee 

Tasting  all  blossoms,  and  confined  to  none — 
Among  those  mortal  forms,  the  wizard-maiden 
Passed  with  an  eye  serene  and  heart  unladen. 

To  those  she  saw  most  beautiful,  she  gave 

Strange  panacea  in  a  chrystal  bowl. 
They  drank  in  their  deep  sleep  of  that  sweet  wave. 

And  lived  thenceforth  as  if  some  controul, 
Mightier  than  life,  were  in  them  ;  and  the  grave 

Of  such,  when  death  oppressed  the  weary  soul, 
Was  a  green  and  over-arching  Bower 
Lit  by  the  gems  of  many  a  starry  flower. 

For  on  the  night 'that  they  were  buried,  she 
Restored  the  embalmers  ruining,  and  shook 
35  » 


408  THE  WITCH  OF  ATLAS. 

The  light  out  of  the  funeral  lamps,  to  be 
A  mimic  day  within  that  deathy  nook  : 

And  she  unwound  the  woven  imagery 

Of  second  childhood's  swaddling  bands,  and  took 

The  coffin,  its  last  cradle,  from  its  niche, 

And  threw  it  with  contempt  into  a  ditch. 

And  there  the  body  lay,  age  after  age, 

Mute,  breathing,  beating,  warm,  and  undecaying, 
Like  one  asleep  in  a  green  hermitage, 

With  gentle  sleep  about  its  eyelids  playing, 
And  living  in  its  dreams  beyond  the  rage 

Of  death  or  life:  while  they  were  still  arraying 
Fn  liveries  ever  new  the  rapid,  blind, 
And  fleeting  generations  of  mankind. 

And  she  would  write  strange  dreams  upon  the  brain 
Of  those  who  were  less  beautiful,  and  make 

All  harsh  and  crooked  purposes  more  vain 
Than  in  the  desert  is  the  serpent's  wake 

Which  the  sand  covers, — all  his  evil  gain 

The  miser  in  such  dreams  would  rise  and  shake 

Into  a  beggar's  lap  : — the  lying  scribe 

\\  ould  his  own  lies  betray  without  a  bribe. 

The  priests  would  write  an  explanation  full, 

Translating  hieroglyphics  into  Greek, 
How  the  god  Apis  really  was  a  bull, 

And  nothing  more;  and  bid  the  herald  stick 
Tbe  same  against  the  temple  doors,  and  pull 

The  old  cant  down  :  they  licensed  all  to  speak 
V  hate'er  they  thought  of  hawks,  and  cats  and  geese, 
By  pastoral  letters  to  each  diocese. 

The  king  would  dress  an  ape  up  in  his  crown 

And  robes,  and  seat  him  on  his  glorious  seat, 
And  on  the  right  hand  of  the  sunlike  throne 

Would  place  a  gaudy  mock-bird  to  repeat 
The  chattering  of  the  mockey.— Every  one 

Of  the  prone  courtiers  crawled  to  kiss  the  feet 
Of  their  great  Emperor  when  the  morning  came  ; 

And  kissed — alas,  how  many  kiss  the  same  ! 

The  soldiers  dreamed  that  that  were  blacksmiths,  and 
Walked  out  of  quarters  in  sonambulism, 

Round  the  red  anvils  you  might  see  them  stand 
Like  Cyclopses  in  Vulcan's  sooty  abysm, 

Beating  their  swords  to  ploughshares  ;— in  a  band 
The  jailors  sent  those  of  the  liberal  schism 

Free  through  the  streets  of  Memphis ;  much,  I  wist, 

To  the  annoyance  of  king  Amasis. 


THE  WITCH  OF  ATLAS.  409 

And  timid  lovers  who  had  been  so  coy, 

They  hardly  knew  whether  they  loved  or  not, 

Would  rise  out  of  their  rest,  and  take  sweet  joy, 
To  the  fulfilment  of  their  inmost  thought; 

And  when  next  day  the  maiden  and  the  boy 
Met  one  another,  both  like  sinners  caught, 

Blushed  at  the  thing  which  each  believed  was  done 

Only  in  fancy — till  the  tenth  moon  shone; 

And  then  the  Witch  would  let  them  take  no  ill: 
Of  many  thousand  schemes  which  lovers  find 

The  Witch  found  one, — and  so  they  took  their  fill 
Of  happiness  in  marriage  warm  and  kind. 

Friends  who,  by  practice  of  some  envious  skill, 
Were  torn  apart,  a  wide  wound;  mind  from  mind 

She  did  unite  again  with  visions  clear 

Of  deep  affection  and  of  truth  sincere. 

These  were  the  pranks  she  played  among  the  cities 

Of  mortal  men,  and  what  she  did  to  sprites 
And  gods,  entangling  them  in  her  sweet  ditties 

To  do  her  will,  and  show  their  subtle  slights, 
I  will  declare  another  time;   for  it  is 

A  tale  more  fit  for  the  weird  winter  nights — 
Than  for  these  garish  summer  days,  when  we 
Scarcely  believe  much  more  than  we  can  see. 


END  OP  THE  WITCH  OF  ATLAS, 


410 

THE  TKIUMPH  OF  LIFE. 


Swift  as  a  spirit  hastening  to  his  task 

Of  glory  and  of  good,  the  sun  sprang  forth 

Rejoicing  in  his  splendour,  and  the  mask 

Of  darkness  fell  from  the  awakened  Earth — 
The  smokeless  altars  of  the  mountain  snows 
Flamed  above  crimson  clouds,  and  at  the  birth 

Of  light,  the  Ocean's  orison  arose, 

To  which  the  birds  tempered  their  matin  lay, 

All  flowers  in  field  or  forest  which  unclose 

Their  trembling  eyelids  to  the  kiss  of  day, 
Swinging  their  censers  in  the  element, 
With  orient  incense  lit  by  the  new  ray 

Burned  slow  and  inconsumbly,  and  sent 
Their  odorous  sighs  up  to  the  smiling  air; 
And,  in  succession  due,  did  continent, 

Isle,  ocean,  and  all  things  that  in  them  wear 
The  form  and  character  of  mortal  mould, 
Rise  as  the  sun  their  father  rose,  to  bear 

Their  portion  of  the  toil,  which  he  of  old 
Took  as  his  own  and  then  imposed  on  them  : 
But  I,  whom  thoughts  which  must  remain  untold 

Had  kept  as  wakeful  as  the  stars  that  gem 
The  cone  of  night,  now  they  were  laid  asleep 
Stretched  my  faint  limbs  beneath  the  hoary  stem 

Which  an  old  chesnut  flung  athwart  the  steep 

Of  a  green  Apennine;  before  me  fled 

The  night ;  behind  me  rose  the  day;  the  deep 

Was  at  my  feet,  and  Heaven  above  my  head, 
When  a  strange  trance  over  my  fancy  grew 
Which  was  noc  slumber,  for  the  shade  it  spread 

Was  so  transparent,  that  the  scene  came  through 
As  clear  as  when  a  veil  of  light  is  drawn 
O'er  evening  hills  they  glimmer  ;  and  1  knew 

That  I  had  felt  the  freshness  of  that  dawn, 
Bathe  I  in  the  same  cold  dew  my  brow  and  hair, 
And  sate  as  thus  upon  that  slope  of  lawn 

Under  the  self-same  bough,  and  heard  as  there 
The  birds,  the  fountains,  and  the  ocean,  hold. 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  LIFE.  411 

Sweet  talk  in  music  through  the  enamoured  air, 
And  then  a  vision  on  my  brain  was  rolled. 


As  in  that  trance  of  wondrous  thought  I  lay, 
This  was  the  tenor  of  my  waking  dream: 
Methought  I  sate  beside  a  public  way 

Thick  strewn  with  summer  dust,  and  a  great  stream 
Of  people  there  was  hurrying  to  and  fro, 
Numerous  as  gnats  upon  the  evening  gleam, 

A'l  hastening  onward,  yet  none  seemed  to  know 
Whither  he  went,  or  whence  he  came,  or  why 
He  made  one  of  the  multitude  ;  and  so 

Was  borne  amid  the  crowd,  as  through  the  sky 
One  of  the  million  leaves  of  summer's  bier; 
Old  age  and  youth,  manhood  and  infancy, 

Mixed  in  one  mighty  torrent  did  appear; 

Some  flying  from  the  thing  they  feared,  and  some 

Seeking  the  object  of  another's  fear  ; 

And  others  as  with  steps  towards  the  tomb, 
Pored  on  the  trodden  worms  that  crawled  beneath, 
And  others  mournfully  within  the  gloom 

Of  their  own  shadow  walked  and  called  it  death; 
And  some  fled  from  it  as  it  were  a  ghost, 
Half  fainting  in  the  affliction  of  vain  breath  : 

But  mare  with  motions,  which  each  other  crost, 
Pursued  or  spurned  the  shadows  the  clouds  threw, 
Or  birds  within  the  noon-day  ether  lost, 

Upon  that  path  where  flowers  never  grew, 
And  weary  with  vain  toil  and  faint  for  thirst, 
Heard  not  the  fountains,  whose  melodious  dew 

Out  of  their  mossy  cells  for  ever  hurst ; 

Nor  felt  the  breeze  which  from  the  forest  told 

Of  grassy  paths  and  wood,  lawn-interspersed, 

'With  over-arching  elms  and  caverns  cold, 

And  violet  banks  where  sweet  dreams  brood,  but  they 

Pursued  their  serious  folly  as  of  old. 

And  as  I  gazed,  methought  that  in  the  way 
The  throng  grew  wilder,  and  the  woods  oi  June 
When  the  south  wind  shakes  the  extinguished  day 

And  a  cold  glare,  intenscr  than  the  noon, 
But  icy  cold,  obscured  with  [blinding]  lU>-ht 
The  sun,  as  he  the  stars.     Like  the  young  moon 


412  THE  TRIUMPH  OF  LIFE. 

When  on  the  sunlit  limits  of  the  night 
Her  white  shell  trembles  amid  crimson  air, 
And  whilst  the  sleeping  tempest  gathers  might, 

Doth,  as  the  herald  of  its  coming,  bear 

The  ghost  of  its  dead  mother,  whose  dim  form 

Bends  in  dark  ether  from  her  infant's  chair, — 

So  came  a  chariot  on  the  silent  storm 

Of  its  own  rushing  splendour,  and  a  Shape 

So  sate  within,  as  one  whom  years  deform, 

Beneath  a  dusky  hood  and  double  cape, 
Crouching  within  the  shadow  of  a  tomb, 
And  o'er  what  seemed  the  head  a  cloud-like  crape 
Was  bent,  a  dun  and  faint  ethereal  gloom 
Tempering  the  light  upon  the  chariot  beam  ; 
A  Janus-visaged  shadow  did  assume 

The  guidance  of  that  wonder-winged  team  ; 
The  shapes  which  drew  it  in  thick  lightnings 
W  ere  lost: — I  heard  alone  on  the  air's  soft  stream 

The  music  of  their  ever-moving  wings. 

All  the  four  faces  of  that  charioteer 

Had  their  eyes  banded ;  little  profit  brings 

Speed  in  the  van  and  blindness  in  the  rear, 

Nor  then  avail  the  beams  that  quench  the  sun 

Or  that  with  banded  eyes  could  pierce  the  sphere 

Of  all  that  is,  has  been,  or  will  be  done ; 
So  ill  was  the  car  guided— but  it  past 
With  solemn  speed  majestically  on. 

The  crowd  gave  way,  and  I  arose  aghast, 
Or  seemed  to  rise,  so  mighty  was  the  trance, 
And  saw,  like  clouds  upon  the  thunders  blast, 

The  million  with  fierce  song  and  maniac  dance 
Raging  around — such  seemed  the  jubilee 
As  when  to  meet  some  conqueror's  advance 
Imperial  Rome  poured  forth  her  living  sea 
From  senate  house,  and  forum,  and  theatre, 
When  [  ]  upon  the  free 

Ilad  bound  a  yoke,  which  soon  they  stooped  to  bear. 
Nor  wanted  here  the  just  similitude 
Of  a  triumphal  pageant,  for  where'er 

The  chariot  rolled,  a  captive  multitude 

Was  driven ; — all  those  who  had  grown  old  in  power 

Or  misery , — all  who  had  their  age  subdued 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  LIFE.  413 

By  action  or  by  suffering,  and  whose  hour 

Was  drained  to  ib  last  sand  in  weal  or  woe, 

So  that  the  trunk  survived  both  fruit  and  flower; — 

All  those  whose  fame  or  infamy  must  grow 
Till  the  great  winter  lay  the  form  and  name 
Of  this  green  earth  with  them  for  ever  lot.  ;-  •• 

All  but  the  sacred  few  who  could  not  tame 

Their  spirits  to  the  conquerors — but  as  soon 

As  they  had  touched  the  world  with  living  flame, 

Fled  back  like  eagles  to  their  native  noon, 

Or  those  who  put  aside  the  diadem 

Of  earthly  thrones  or  gems  [  ] 

Were  there,  of  Athens  or  Jerusalem, 
Were  neither  mid  the  mighty  captives  seen, 
Nor  mid  the  ribald  crowd  that  followed  them, 

Nor  those  who  went  before,  fierce  and  obscene. 
The  wild  dance  maddens  in  the  van,  and  those 
Who  lead  it — fleet  as  shadows  on  the  green, 

Outspeed  the  chariot,  and  without  repose 
Mix  with  each  other  in  tempestuous  measure 
To  savage  music,  wilder  as  it  grows, 

They,  tortured  by  their  agonizing  pleasure, 
Convulsed,  and  on  the  rapid  whirlwinds  spun 
Of  that  fierce  spirit,  whose  unholy  leisure 

Was  soothed  by  mischief  since  the  world  begun, 
Throw  back  their  heads  and  loose  their  streaming  hair  ; 
And  in  their  dance  round  her  who  dims  the  sun, 

Maidens  and  youths  fling  their  wild  arms  in  air. 
As  their  feet  twinkle  ;  they  recede,  and  now 
Bending  within  each  other's  atmosphere 

Kindle  invisibly — and  as  they  glow, 

Like  moths  by  light  attracted  and  repelled, 

Oft  to  their  bright  destruction  come  and  go, 

Till  like  two  clouds  into  one  vale  impelled, 

That  shake  the  mountains  when  their  lightnings  mingle 

And  die  in  rain — the  fiery  band  which  held 

Their  natures,  snaps — the  shock  still  may  tingle  ; 
One  falls  and  then  another  in  the  path 
Senseless — nor  is  the  desolation  single, 

Yet  ere  I  can  say  where — the  chariot  hath 
Past  over  them — nor  other  trace  1  find 
But  as  of  foam  after  the  ocean's  wrath 


414  THE  TRIUMPH  OF  LIFE. 

Is  spent  upon  the  desert  shore  : — behind, 
Old  men  and  women  foully  disarrayed, 
Shake  their  grey  hairs  in  the  insulting  wind, 

And  follow  in  the  dance,  with  limbs  decayed. 
Seeking  to  reach  the  light  which  leaves  them  still 
Farther  behind  and  deeper  in  the  shade. 

But  not  the  less  with  impotence  of  will 

They  wheel,  though  ghastly  shadows  interpose 

Round  them  and  round  each  other,  and  fulfil 

Their  part  and  in  the  dust  from  whence  they  rose 

Sink,  and  corruption  veils  them  as  they  lie, 

And  past  in  these  performs  what  [  ]  in  those. 

Struck  to  the  heart  by  this  sad  pageantry, 
Half  to  myself  I  said — And  what  is  this  ? 
Whose  shape  is  that  within  the  car  ?     And  why — 

I  would  have  added — is  all  here  amiss  ? — 

But  a  voice  answered — "  Life  !" — I  turned,  and  knew 

(  O  heaven,  have  mercy  on  such  wretchedness  !) 

That  what  I  thought  was  an  old  root  which  grew 
To  strange  distortion  out  of  the  hill  side, 
Was  indeed  one  of  those  deluded  crew, 

And  that  the  grass,  which  methought  hung  so  wide 
And  white,  was  but  his  thin  discoloured  hair, 
And  that  the  holes  it  vainly  sought  to  hide, 

Were,  or  had  been,  eyes  : — "  If  thou  canst,  forbear 
To  join  the  dance,  which  I  had  well  forborne!" 
Said  the  grim  Feature  of  my  thought :  "  Aware, 

"  I  will  unfold  that  which  to  this  deep  scorn 
Led  me  and  my  companions,  and  relate 
The  progress  of  the  pageant  since  the  morn  ; 

"  If  thirst  of  knowledge  shall  not  then  abate, 

Follow  it  thou  even  to  the  night,  but  I 

Am  weary." — Then  like  one  who  with  the  weight 

Of  his  own  words  is  staggered,  wearily 

He  paused ;  and,  ere  he  could  resume,  I  cried  ; 

"  First,  who  art  thou  ?" — "  Before  thy  memory, 

"  I  feared,  loved,  hated,  suffered,  did  and  died, 
And  if  the  spark  with  which  Heaven  lit  my  spirit 
Had  been  with  purer  sentiment  supplied, 

"  Corruption  would  not  now  thus  much  inherit 
Of  what  was  once  Rousseau, — nor  this  disguise 
Stained  that  which  ought  to  have  disdained  to  wear  it; 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF   LIFE.  415 

"  If  I  have  been  extinguished,  yet  there  rise 

A  thousand  beacons  from  the  spark  I  bore" — 

"  And  who  are  those  chained  to  the  car  ?" — "  The  wise, 

"  The  great,  the  unforgotten, — they  who  wore 
Mitres,  and  helms,  and  crowns,  or  wreaths  of  light, 
Signs  of  thought's  empire  over  thought — their  lore 

"  Taught  them  not  this,  to  know  themselves  ;  their  might 

Could  not  repress  the  mystery  within, 

And  for  the  morn  of  truth  they  feigned,  deep  night, 

"  Caught  them  ere  evening." — "  Who  is  he  with  chin 
Upon  his  hi  east,  and  hands  crost  on  his  chain  ?" — 
"  'I  he  Child  of  a  fierce  hour  ;  he  sought  to  win 

"  The  world,  and  lost  all  that  it  did  contain 
Of  greatness,  in  its  hope  destroyed  :  and  more 
Of  fame  and  peace  than  virtue's  self  can  gain 

"  Without  the  opportunity  which  bore 

Him  on  its  eagle  pinions  to  the  peak 

From  which  a  thousand  climbers  have  before 

"  Fall'n,  as  Napoleon  fell." — I  felt  my  cheek 

Alter,  to  see  the  shadow  pass  away, 

Whose  grasp  had  left  the  giant  world  so  weak, 

That  every  pigmy  kicked  it  as  it  lay  : 

And  much  1  grieved  to  think  how  power  and  will 

In  opposition  rule  our  mortal  day, 

And  why  God  made  irreconcilable 

Good  and  the  means  of  good  ;  and  for  despair 

I  half  disdained  mine  eyes  desire  to  fill 

With  the  spent  vision  of  the  times  that  were 

And  scarce  have  ceased  to  be. — "  Dost  thou  behold," 

Said  my  guide,  "  those  spoilers  spoiled,  Voltaire, 

"  Frederic,  and  Paul,  Catherine,  and  Leopold, 
And  hoary  anarchs,  demagogues,  and  sage — 
■ name  which  the  world  thinks  always  old, 

"  For  in  the  battle  life  and  they  did  wage, 
She  remained  conqueror.  I  was  overcome 
By  my  own  heart  alone,  which  neither  age, 

"  Nor  tears,  nor  infamy,  nor  now  the  tomb 
Could  temper  to  its  object." — "  Let  them  pass," 
I  cried,  "  the  world  and  its  mysterious  doom 

"  Is  not  so  much  more  glorious  than  it  was, 
That  I  desire  to  worship  those  who  drew 
New  figures  on  its  false  and  fragile  glass 


416  THE  TRIUMPH  OF  LIFE. 

"  As  the  old  faded." — "  Figures  ever  new 
Rise  on  the  bubble,  paint  them  as  you  may  ; 
AVe  have  but  thrown,  as  those  before  us  threw, 

"  Our  shadows  on  it  as  it  past  awsy. 

But  mark  how  chained  to  the  triumphal  chair 

The  mighty  phantoms  of  an  elder  day  ; 

"  All  that  is  mortal  of  great  Plato  there 
Expiates  the  joy  and  woe  his  master  knew  not  : 
The  star  that  ruled  his  doom  was  far  too  fair, 

"  And  life,  where  long  that  flower  of  heaven  grew  not, 
Conquered  that  heart  by  love,  which  gold,  or  pain, 
Or  age,  or  sloth,  or  slavery,  could  subdue  not. 

"  And  near  him  walk  the   [  ]  twain, 

The  tutor  and  his  pupil,  whom  Dominion 
Followed  as  tame  as  vulture  in  a  chain. 

"  The  world  was  darkened  beneath  either  pinion 

Of  him  whom  from  the  flock  of  conquerors 

Fame  singled  out  for  her  thunder-bearing  minion  ; 

"  The  other  long  outlived  both  woes  and  wars, 
Throned  in  the  thoughts  of  men,  and  still  had  kept 
The  jealous  key  of  truth's  eternal  doors, 

"  If  Bacon's  eagle  spirit  had  not  leapt 

Like  lightning  out  of  darkness — he  compelled 

The  Proteus  shape  of  Nature  as  it  slept 

"  To  wake,  and  lead  him  to  the  caves  that  held 

The  treasure  of  the  secrets  of  its  reign, 

See  the  great  bards  of  elder  time,  who  quelled 

"  The  passions  which  they  sung,  as  by  their  strain 
May  well  be  known  :  their  living  melody 
Tempers  its  own  contagion  to  the  vein 

"  Of  those  who  are  infected  with  it — I 
Have  suffered  what  I  wrote,  or  viler  pain, 
And  so  my  words  have  seeds  of  misery  !" — 


[  There  is  a  chasm  here  in  the  M.S.  which  it  is  impossible  to  fill  up.  It 
appears  from  the  context,  that  other  shapes  pass,  and  that  Rousseau  siili 
stood  beside  the  dreamer,  as] 

he  pointed  to  a  company, 

Midst  whom  I  quickly  recognised  the  heirs 
Of  Caesar's  crime,  from  him  to  Constantine  ; 
The  anarch  chiefs,  whose  force  and  murderous  snares 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  LIFE.  417 

Had  founded  many  a  sceptre-bearing  line, 

And  spread  the  plague  of  gold  and  blood  abroad  : 

And  Gregory  and  John,  and  men  divine, 

Who  rose  like  shadows  between  man  and  God  : 

Till  that  eclipse,  still  hanging  over  heaven, 

Was  worshipped  by  the  world  o'er  which  they  strode, 

For  the  true  sun  it  quenched — "  Their  power  was  given 
But  to  destroy,"  replied  the  leader: — "I 
Am  one  of  those  who  have  created,  even, 

"  If  it  be  but  a  world  of  agony." — 

"  Whence  comest  thou  ?  and  whither  goest  thou  ? 

How  did  thy  course  begin  ?"  I  said,  "  and  why  1" 

"  Mine  eyes  are  sick  of  this  perpetual  flow 

Of  people,  and  my  heart  sick  of  one  sad  thought — ■ 

Speak  !" — "  Whence  I  am,  I  partly  seem  to  know 

"  And  how  and  by  what  paths  I  have  been  brought 
To  this  dread  pass,  methinks  even  thou  mayst  guess  ; — 
Why  this  should  be,  my  mind  can  compass  not  ; 

"  Whither  the  conquei'or  hurries  me,  still  less  ; — 
But  follow  thou,  and  from  spectator  turn 
Actor  or  victim  in  this  wretchedness, 

"  And  what  thou  wouldst  be  taught  I  then  may  learn 
From  thee.     Now  listen  : — In  the  April  prime, 
When  all  the  forest  tips  began  to  burn 

"With  kindling  green,  touched  by  the  azure  clime 
Of  the  young  year's  dawn,  1  was  laid  asleep 
Under  a  mountain,  which  from  unknown  time 

"  Had  yawned  into  a  cavern,  high  and  deep  ; 

And  from  it  came  a  gentle  rivulet, 

Whose  water,  like  clear  air,  in  its  calm  sweep 

"  Bent  the  soft  grass,  and  kept  for  ever  wet 

The  stems  of  the  sweet  flowers,  and  filled  the  grove 

With  sounds,  which  whoso  hears  must  needs  forget 

"  All  pleasure  and  all  pain,  all  hate  and  love, 
Which  they  had  known  before  that  hour  of  rest ; 
A  sleeping  mother  then  would  dream  not  of 

"  Her  only  child  who  died  upon  her  breast 
At  eventide — a  king  would  mourn  no  more 
The  crown  of  which  his  brows  were  dispossest 

"  When  the  sun  lingered  o'er  his  ocean  floor, 

To  gild  his  rival's  new  prosperity. 

Thou  wouldst  forget  thus  vainly  to  deplore 


418  THE  TRIUMPH  OF  LIFE. 

"  Ills,  which  if  ills  can  find  no  cure  from  thee, 
The  thought  of  which  no  other  sleep  will  quell, 
Nor  other  music  blot  from  memory, 

"  So  sweet  and  deep  is  the  oblivious  spell ; 
And  whether  life  bad  been  before  that  sleej 
The  heaven  which  I  imagine,  or  a  hell 

"  Like  this  harsh  world  in  which  I  wake  to  weep, 

I  know  not.     I  arose,  and  for  a  space 

The  scene  of  woods  and  waters  seemed  to  keep, 

"  Though  it  was  now  broad  day,  a  gentle  trace 

Of  light  diviner  than  the  common  sun 

Sheds  on  the  common  earth,  and  all  the  place 

"Was  filled  with  magic  sounds  woven  into  one 

Oblivious  melody,  confusing  sense 

Amid  the  gilding  waves  and  shadows  dun ; 

"  And,  as  I  looked,  the  bright  omnipresence 
Of  morning  through  the  orient  cavern  flowed, 
And  the  sun's  image  radiantly  intense 

"  Burned  on  the  waters  of  the  well  that  glowed 
Like  gold,  and  threaded  all  the  forest's  maze 
With  winding  paths  of  emerald  fire  ;  there  stood 

"  Amid  the  sun,  as  he  amid  the  blaze 

Of  his  own  glory,  on  the  vibrating 

Floor  of  the  fountain,  paved  with  flashing  rays, 

"  A  Shape  all  light,  which  with  one  hand  did  fling 
Dew  on  the  earth,  as  if  she  were  the  dawn, 
And  the  invisible  rain  did  ever  sing 

"  A  silver  music  on  the  mossy  lawn  ; 
And  still  before  me  on  the  dusky  grass, 
Iris  her  many-coloured  scarf  had  drawn  : 

"  In  her  right  hand  she  bore  a  crystal  glass, 
Mantling  with  bright  Nepenthe  ;  the  fierce  splendour 
Fell  from  her  as  she  moved  under  the  mass 

"  Out  of  the  deep  cavern,  with  palms  so  tender, 
'Their  tread  broke  not  the  mirror  of  its  billow  ; 
She  glided  along  the  river,  and  did  bend  her 

"  Head  under  the  dark  boughs,  till,  like  a  willow, 
Her  fair  hair  swept  the  bosom  of  the  stream 
That  whispered  with  delight  to  be  its  pillow. 

"  As  one  enamoured  is  upborne  in  dream 

O'er  lily-paven  lakes  mid  silver  mist, 

To  wondrous  music,  so  this  shape  might  seem 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  LIFE.  419 

*  Partly  to  tread  the  waves  with  feet  winch  kissed 
The  dancing  foam  ;  partly  to  glide  along 
The  air  which  roughened  the  moist  amethyst, 

"  Or  the  faint  morning  beams  that  fell  among 
The  trees,  or  the  soft  shadows  of  the  trees  ; 
And  her  feet  ever  to  the  ceaseless  song 

"  Of  leaves,  and  winds,  and  waves,  and  birds,  and  bees, 
And  falling  drops,  moved  to  a  measure  new 
Yet  sweet,  as  on  the  summer  evening  breeze, 

"  Up  from  the  lake  a  shape  of  golden  dew 
Between  two  rocks,  athwart  the  rising  moon, 
Dances  i'  the  wind,  where  never  eagle  flew  ; 

"  And  still  her  feet,  no  less  than  the  sweet  tune 

To  which  they  moved,  seemed  as  they  moved  to  blot 

The  thoughts  of  him  who  gazed  on  them  ;  and  soon 

"  All  that  was,  seemed  as  if  it  had  been  not ; 

And  all  the  gazer's  mind  was  strewed  beneath 

Her  feet  like  embers  ;  and  she,  thought  by  thought, 

"  Trampled  its  sparks  into  the  dust  of  death  ; 

As  day  upon  the  threshold  of  the  east 

Treads  out  the  lamps  of  night,  until  the  breath 

"  Of  darkness  re-illumine  even  the  least 
Of  heaven's  living  eyes — like  day  she  came, 
Making  the  night  a  dream  ;  and  ere  she  ceased 

"  To  move,  as  one  between  desire  and  shame 
Suspended,  I  said — If,  as  it  doth  seem, 
Thou  comest  from  the  realm  without  a  name, 

"  Into  this  valley  of  perpetual  dream, 

Show  whence  I  came,  and  where  I  am,  and  why — 

Pass  not  away  upon  the  passing  stream. 

"  Arise  and  quench  thy  thirst,"  was  her  reply. 
And  as  a  shut  lily,  stricken  by  the  wand 
Of  dewy  morning's  vital  alchemy, 

"  I  rose  ;  and,  bending  at  her  sweet  command, 
Touched  with  faint  lips  the  cup  she  raised, 
And  suddenly  my  brain  became  as  sand, 

"  Where  the  first  wave  had  more  than  half  erased 
The  track  of  deer  on  desert  Labrador  ; 
Whilst  the  wolf,  from  which  they  fled  amazed, 

"  Leaves  his  stamp  visibly  upon  the  shore, 
Until  the  second  bursts; — so  on  my  iiight 
Burst  a  new  vision  never  seen  before. 


420  THE  TRIUMPH  OF  LIFE. 

"  And  the  fair  shape  waned  in  the  coming  light, 
As  veil  by  veil  the  silent  splendour  drops 
From  Lucifer,  amid  the  chrysolite 

"  Of  sun-rise,  ere  it  tinge  the  mountain  tops  ; 
And  as  the  presence  of  that  fairest  planet. 
Although  unseen,  is  felt  by  one  who  hopes 

"  That  his  day's  path  may  end  as  he  began  it, 
In  that  star's  smile,  whose  light  is  like  the  scent 
Of  a  jonquil  when  evening  breezes  fan  it, 

"  Or  the  soft  note  in  which  h^  dear  lament 
The  Brescian  shepherd  breathes,  or  the  caress 
That  turned  his  weary  slumber  to  content ;  * 

"  So  knew  I  in  that  light's  severe  excess 

The  presence  of  that  shape  which  on  the  stream 

Moved,  as  I  moved  along  the  wilderness, 

"  More  dimly  than  a  day-appearing  dream, 

The  ghost  of  a  forgotten  form  of  sleep  : 

A  light  of  heaven,  whose  half-extinguished  beam 

"  Through  the  sick  day  in  which  we  wake  to  weep, 
Glimmers,  for  ever  sought,  for  ever  lost ; 
So  did  that  shape  its  obscure  tenour  keep 

"  Beside  my  path,  as  silent  as  a  ghost  ; 
But  the  new  vision  and  the  cold  bright  car, 
With  solemn  speed  and  stunning  music,  crost 

"  The  forest,  and  as  if  from  some  dread  war 
Triumphantly  returning,  the  loud  million 
Fiercely  extolled  the  fortune  of  her  star. 

"  A  moving  arch  of  victory,  the  vermilion 
And  green,  and  azure  plumes  of  Iris,  had 
Built  high  over  her  wind-winged  pavilion, 

"  And  underneath  ethereal  glory  clad 
The  wilderness,  and  far  before  her  flew 
The  tempest  of  the  splendour,  which  forbade 

"  Shadow  to  fall  from  leaf  and  stone  ;  the  crew 
Seemed  in  that  light,  like  atomies  to  dance 
Within  a  sunbeam  ; — some  upon  the  new 

"  Embroidery  of  flowers,  that  did  enhance 
The  grassy  vesture  of  the  desert,  played, 
Forgetful  of  the  chariot's  swift  advance; 

"  The  favourite  song,  "Stanco  di  pascolar  le  peccorelle,"  is  a  Brescian 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  LIFE. 

■  Others  stood  gazing,  till  within  the  shade 
Of  the  great  mountain  its  light  left  them  dim  ; 
Others  outspeeded  it ;  and  others  made 

"Circles  around  it,  like  the  clouds  that  swim 
Round  the  high  moon  in  a  bright  sea  of  air  ; 
And  more  did  follow,  with  exulting  hymn, 

"  The  chariot  and  the  captives  fettered  there  : — 
But  all  like  bubbles  on  an  eddying  flood 
Fell  into  the  same  track  at  last,  and  were 

"  Borne  onward.     I  among  the  multitude 

Was  swept — me,  sweetest  flowers  delayed  not  long  j 

Me,  not  the  shadow  nor  the  solitude  ; 

"  Me,  not  that  falling  stream's  Lethean  song; 
Me,  not  the  phantom  of  that  early  form, 
Which  moved  upon  its  motion — but  among 

"  The  thickest  billows  of  that  living  storm 
I  plunged,  and  bared  my  bosom  to  the  clime 
Of  that  cold  light,  whose  airs  too  soon  deform. 

"  Before  the  chariot  had  begun  to  climb 
The  opposing  steep  of  that  mysterious  dell, 
Behold  a  wonder  worthy  of  the  rhyme 

"  Of  him  who  from  the  lowest  depths  of  hett, 
Through  every  paradise  and  through  all  glory, 
Love  led  serene,  and  who  returned  to  tell 

"The  words  of  hate  and  care  ;  the  wondrous  story 
How  all  things  are  transfigured  except  Love  ; 
For  deaf  as  is  a  sea,  which  wrath  makes  hoary, 

"  The  world  can  hear  not  the  sweet  notes  that  move 
The  sphere  whose  light  is  melody  to  lovers — 
A  wonder  worthy  of  his  rhyme — the  grove 

"  Grew  dense  with  shadows  to  its  inmost  covers, 
The  earth  was  grey  with  phantoms,  and  the  air 
Was  peopled  with  dim  forms,  as  when  there  hovers 

"  A  flock  of  vampire-bats  before  the  glare 

Of  the  tropic  sun,  bringing,  ere  evening, 

Strange  night  upon  some  Indian  vale  ; — thus  were 

"  Phantoms  diffused  around  ;  and  some  did  fling 
Shadows  of  shadows,  yet  unlike  themselves, 
Behind  them  ;  some  like  eaglets  on  the  wing 

"  Were  lost  in  the  white  day  ;  others  like  elves 
Danced  in  a  thousand  unimagined  shapes 
Upon  the  sunny  streams  and  grassy  shelves; 


422  THE  TRIUMPH  OF  LIFE. 

"  And  others  sate  chattering  like  restless  apes 
On  vulgar  hands,     *     *     *     *     * 
Some  made  a  cradle  of  the  ermined  capes 

"  Of  kingly  mantles  ;  some  across  the  tire 
Of  pontiff's  rode,  like  demons  ;  others  played 
Under  the  crown  which  girt  with  empire 

"  A  baby's  or  an  idiot's  brow,  and  made 

Their  nests  in  it.     The  old  anatomies 

Sate  hatching  their  bare  broods  under  the  shade 

"  Of  demon  wings,  and  laughed  from  their  dead  eyes 

To  re-assume  the  delegated  power, 

Array 'd  in  which  those  worms  did  monarchise. 

"  Who  made  this  earth  their  charnel.     Others  more 

Humble,  like  falcons,  sate  upon  the  fist 

Of  common  men,  and  round  their  heads  did  soar; 

"  Or  like  small  gnats  and  flies,  as  thick  as  mist 
On  evening  marshes,  thronged  about  the  brow 
Of  lawyers,  statesmen,  priest,  and  theorist ; — 

"  And  others,  like  discoloured  flakes  of  snow 
On  fairest  bosoms  and  the  sunniest  hair, 
Fell,  and  were  melted  by  the  youthful  glow 

*'  Which  they  extinguished  ;  and,  like  tears,  they  were 
A  veil  to  those  from  whose  faint  lids  they  rained 
In  drops  of  sorrow.     I  became  aware 

"  Of  whence  those  forms  proceeded  which  thus  stained 
The  track  in  which  we  moved.     After  brief  space, 
From  every  form  the  beauty  slowly  waned  ; 

"  From  every  firmest  limb  and  fairest  face 

The  strength  and  freshness  fell  like  dust,  and  left 

The  action  and  the  shape  without  the  grace 

"  Of  life.     The  marble  brow  of  youth  was  cleft 

With  care ;  and  in  those  eyes  where  once  hope  shone, 

Desire,  like  a  lioness  bereft 

"  Of  her  last  cub,  glared  ere  it  died  ;  each  one 

Of  that  great  crowd  sent  forth  incessantly 

These  shadows,  numerous  as  the  dead  leaves  blown 

'  In  autumn  evening  from  a  poplar  tree, 
Each  like  himself,  and  like  each  other  were 
At  first ;  but  some  distorted  seemed  to  be 

"  Obscure  clouds,  moulded  by  the  casual  air ; 
And  of  this  stuff  the  car's  creative  ray 
Wrapt  all  the  busy  phantoms  that  were  there, 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  LIFE.  423 

"  As  the  sun  shapes  the  clouds  ;  thus  on  the  way 
Mask  after  mask  fell  from  the  countenance 
And  form  of  all  ;  and  long  before  the  day 

"  Was  old,  the  joy  which  waked  like  heaven's  glance 
The  sleepers  in  the  oblivious  valley,  died; 
And  some  grew  weary  of  the  ghastly  dance, 

"  And  fell,  as  I  have  fallen,  by  the  way-side  ;— 
Those  soonest  from  whose  forms  most  shadows  past, 
And  least  of  strength  acd  beauty  did  abide. 

"  Then,  what  is  life  ?  I  cried." — 


END  OF  THE  TRIOMPH   OF  LIFE. 


421 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS 

ODE   TO    HEAVEN. 

CHORUS    OF    SPIRITS. 

First  Spirit.  Palace-roof  of  cloudless  nights  ! 
Paradise  of  golden  lights  ! 

Deep,  immeasurable,  vast, 
Which  art  now,  and  which  wert  then ! 

Of  the  present  and  the  past, 
Of  the  eternal  where  and  when, 

Presence-chamber,  temple,  home, 

Ever-canopying  dome, 

Of  acts  and  ages  yet  to  come  ! 

Glorious  shapes  have  life  in  thee, 
Earth,  and  all  earth's  company  , 

Living  globes  which  ever  throng 
•Thy  deep  chasms  and  wildernesses  ; 

And  green  worlds  that  glide  along  ; 
And  swift  stars  with  flashing  tresses  ; 

And  icy  moons  most  cold  and  brighti 

And  mighty  suns  beyond  the  night, 

Atoms  of  intensest  light. 

Even  thy  name  is  as  a  god, 
Heaven  !  for  thou  art  the  abode 

Of  that  power  which  is  the  glass 
Wherein  man  his  nature  sees. 

Generations  as  they  pass 
Worship  thee  with  bended  knees. 

Their  unremaining  gods  and  they 

LiKe  a  river  roll  away : 

Thou  remainest  such  alway. 

Second  Spirit.  Thou  art  but  the  mind's  first  chamber, 
Round  which  its  young  fancies  clamber, 

Like  weak  insects  in  a  cave, 
Lighted  up  by  stalactites; 

But  the  portal  of  the  grave, 
Where  a  world  of  new  delights 

Will  make  thy  best  glories  seem 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS.  425 

But  a  dim  and  noonday  gleam 
From  the  shadow  of  a  dream  ! 

Third  Spirit.  Peace  !  the  abyss  is  wreathed  with  scorn 
At  your  presumption,  atom -born  ! 

What  is  heaven  ?  and  what  are  ye 
Who  its  brief  expanse  inherit  ? 

What  are  suns  and  spheres  which  flee 
With  the  instinct  of  that  spirit 

Of  which  ye  are  but  a  part? 

Drops  which  Nature's  mighty  heart 

Drives  through  thinnest  veins.     Depart ! 

What  is  heaven  ?  a  globe  of  dew, 

Filling  in  the  morning  new 

Some  eyed  flower,  whose  young  leaves  waken 

On  an  unimagined  world  : 
Constellated  suns  unshaken, 

Orbits  measureless,  are  furled 
In  that  frail  and  fading  sphere 
With  ten  millions  gathered  there, 
To  tremble,  gleam,  and  disappear. 


AN  EXHORTATION. 

Cameleons  feed  on  light  and  air  ; 

Poet's  food  is  love  and  fame  : 
If  in  this  wide  world  of  care 

Poets  could  but  find  the  same 
With  as  little  toil  as  they, 

Would  they  ever  change  their  hue 

As  the  light  cameleons  do, 
Suiting  it  to  every  ray 
Twenty  times  a-day  ? 

Poets  are  on  this  cold  earth, 

As  cameleons  might  be, 
Hidden  from  their  early  birth 

In  a  cave  beneath  the  sea  ; 
Where  light  is,  cameleons  change  ! 

Where  love  is  not,  poets  do  : 

Fame  is  love  disguised  :  if  few 
Find  either,  never  think  it  strange 
That  poets  range. 

Yet  dare  not  stain  with  wealth  or  power 
A  poet's  free  and  heavenly  inind  : 

If  bright  cameleons  should  devour 
Any  food  but  beams  and  wind, 


426  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

They  would  grow  as  earthly  soon 
As  their  brother  lizards  are, 
Children  of  a  sunnier  star, 

Spirits  from  beyond  the  moon, 

Oh,  refuse  the  boon  ! 


THE  CLOUD. 

I  bring  fresh  showers  for  the  thirsting  flowers, 

From  the  seas  and  the  streams ; 
I  bear  light  shades  for  the  leaves  when  laid 

In  their  noon-day  dreams. 
From  my  wings  are  shaken  the  dews  that  waken 

The  sweet  buds  every  one, 
When  rock'd  to  rest,  on  their  mother's  breast, 

As  she  dances  about  the  sun. 
I  wield  the  flail  of  the  lashing  hail, 

And  whiten  the' green  plains  under, 
And  then  again  I  dissolve  it  in  rain, 

And  laugh  as  I  pass  in  thunder. 

I  sift  the  snow  on  the  mountains  beUur 

And  their  great  pines  groan  aghast ; 
And  all  the  night,  'tis  my  pillow  white, 

While  I  sleep  in  the  arms  of  the  blast. 
Sublime  on  the  towers  of  my  skiey  bowers, 

Lightning,  my  pilot,  sits  ; 
In  a  cavern  under,  is  fettered  the  thunder, 

It  struggles  and  howls  at  fits  : 
Over  earth  and  ocean,  with  gentle  motion, 

This  pilot  is  guiding  me, 
Lured  by  the  love  of  the  genii  that  move 

In  the  depths  of  the  purple  sea  ; 
Over  the  rills,  and  the  crags,  and  the  hills, 

Over  the  lakes  and  the  plains, 
Wherever  he  dream,  under  mountain  or  stream, 

The  Spirit  he  loves,  remains  ; 
And  I  all  the  while  bask  in  heaven's  blue  smile, 

Whilst  he  is  dissolving  in  rains. 

The  sanguine  sunrise,  with  his  meteor  eyes, 

And  his  burning  plumes  outspread, 
Leaps  on  the  back  of  my  sailing  rack, 

When  the  morning  star  shines  dead. 
As  on  the  jag  of  a  mountain  crag, 

Which  an  earthquake  rocks  and  swings, 
An  eagle  alit,  one  moment  may  sit 

In  the  light  of  its  golden  wings. 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS.  427 

And  when  sunset  may  breathe,  from  the  lit  sea  beneath, 

Its  ardours  of  rest  and  of  love, 
And  the  crimson  pall  of  eve  may  fall 

From  the  depth  of  heaven  above, 
With  wings  folded  I  rest,  on  mine  airy  nest, 

As  still  as  a  brooding  dove. 

That  orbed  maiden,  with  white  fire  laden, 

-  Whom  mortals  call  the  moon, 
Glides  glimmering  o'er  my  fleece-like  floor, 

By  the  midnight  breezes  strewn  ; 
And,  wherever  the  beat  of  her  unseen  feet, 

Which  only  the  angels  hear, 
May  have  broken  the  woof  of  my  tent's  thin  roof, 

«    The  stars  peep  behind  her  and  peer  ; 
And  I  laugh  to  see  them  whirl  and  flee, 

Like  a  swarm  of  golden  bees, 
When  I  widen  the  rent  in  my  wind-built  tent. 

Till  the  calm  river,  lakes,  and  seas, 
aLike  strips  of  the  sky  fallen  through  me  on  high, 
Are  each  paved  with  the  moon  and  these. 

I  bind  the  sun's  throne  with  a  burning  zone, 

And  the  moon's  with  a  girdle  of  pearl  : 
The  volcano's  are  dim,  and  the  stars  reel  and  swim. 

When  the  whirlwinds  my  banner  unfurl. 
From  cape  to  cape,  with  a  bridge-like  shape, 

Over  a  torrent  sea, 
Sunbeam  proof,  I  hang  like  a  roof, 

The  mountains  its  columns  be. 
The  triumphal  arch,  through  which  I  march, 

With  hurricane,  fire,  and  snow, 
When  the  powers  of  the  air  are  chained  to  my  chair, 

Is  the  million-coloured  bow  ; 
The  sphere-fire  above,  its  soft  colours  wove, 

While  the  moist  earth  was  laughing  below. 

I  am  the  daughter  of  earth  and  water, 

And  the  nursling  of  the  sky  ; 
I  pass  through  the  pores  of  the  ocean  and  shores; 

I  change,  but  I  cannot  die. 
For  after  the  rain,  when  with 'never  a  stain, 

The  pavilion  of  heaven  is  bare, 
And  the  winds  and  sunbeams,  with  their  convex  gleams, 

Build  up  the  blue  dome  of  air — 
I  silently  laugh  at  my  own  cenotaph, 

And  out  of  the  caverns  of  rain, 
Like .,a_child  from  tlie_aojnb,  like  a  ghost  from  the  tomb, 


;_a  child  from  tlie_aojnb,  like 
I  rise  and  unbuild  it  again. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


TO  A  SKYLARK. 

Hail  to  thee,  blithe  spirit! 

Bird  thou  never  wert, 
That  from  heaven,  or  near  it, 

Pourest  thy  full  heart 
In  profuse  strains  of  unpremeditated  art. 

Higher  still,  and  higher, 

From  the  earth  thou  springest 

Like  a  cloud  of  fire  ; 

The  blue  deep  thou  wingest, 
And  singing  still  dost  soar,  and  soaring  ever,  singest. 

In  the  golden  lightning 

Of  the  sunken  sun, 
O'er  which  clouds  are  brightening, 

Thou  dost  float  and  run, 
Like  an  unbodied  joy  whose  race  is  just  begun. 

The  pale  purple  even 

Melts  around  thy  flight ; 
Like  a  star  of  heaven, 
In  the  broad  day-light 
Thou  art  unseen,  but  yet  1  hear  thy  shrill  delight. 

Keen  as  are  the  arrows 

Of  that  silver  sphere, 
Whose  intense  lamp  narrows 
In  the  white  dawn  clear, 
Until  we  hardly  see,  we  feel  that  it  is  there. 

All  the  earth  and  air 

With  thy  voice  is  loud, 
As,  when  night  is  bare, 

From  one  lonely  cloud 
The  moon  rains  out  her  beams,  and  heaven  is  overflowed. 

What  thou  art  we  know  not ; 

What  is  most  like  thee  ? 
From  rainbow  clouds  there  flow  not 

Drops  so  bright  to  see, 
As  from  thy  presence  showers  a  rain  of  melody. 

Like  a  poet  hidden 

In  the  light  of  (bought, 
Singing  hymns  unbidden, 

Till  the  world  is  wrought 
To  sympathy  with  hopes  and  fears  it  heeded  not; 

Like  a  high-born  .maiden 
In  a  palace  tower. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  429 

Soothing  her  love-laden 
Soul  in  secret  hour, 
With  music  sweet  as  love,  which  overflows  her  bower ; 

Like  a  glow-worm  golden 

In  a  dell  of  dew, 
Scattering  unbeholden 

Its  aerial  hue 
Among  the  flowers  and  grass,  which  screen  it  from  the  view  : 

Like  a  rose  embower'd 

In  its  own  green  leaves, 
By  warm  winds  deflower'd, 
Till  the  scent  it  gives 
Makes  faint  with  too  much  sweet  these  heavy-winged  thieves. 

Sound  of  vernal  showers 

On  the  twinkling  grafls, 
Rain-awakened  flowers, 
All  that  ever  was 
Joyous,  and  clear,  and  fresh,  thy  music  doth  surpass : 

Teach  us,  sprite  or  bird, 

What  sweet  thoughts  are  thine  ; 
I  have  never  heard, 
Praise  of  love  or  wine 
That  panted  forth  a  flood  of  rapture  so  divine. 

Chorus  hymeneal, 

Or  triumphal  chaunt, 
Matched  with  thine  would  be  all 
But  an  empty  vaunt, — 
A  thing  wherein  we  feel  there  is  some  hidden  want. 

What  objects  are  the  fountains 

Of  thy  happy  strain  ? 
What  fields,  or  waves,  or  mountains  ? 
What  shapes  of  sky  or  plain  ? 
What  love  of  thine  own  kind  ?  what  ignorance  of  pain  ? 

With  thy  clear  keen  joyance 

Langour  cannot  be  : 
.  Shadow  of  annoyance 

Never  came  near  thee  : 
Thou  lovest ;  but  ne'er  knew  love's  sad  satiety. 

Waking  or  asleep, 

Thou  of  death  must  deem 
Things  more  true  and  deep 

Than  we  mortals  dream, 
Or  how  could  thy  notes  flow  in  such  a  crystal  stream  ? 

We  look  before  and  after, 
And  pine  for  what  is  not : 


430  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

Our  sincerest  laughter 
.  With  some  pain  is  fraught : 
Our  sweetest  songs  are  those  that  tell  of  saddest  thought 

Yet  if  we  could  scorn 

Hate,  and  pride,  and  fear  ; 
If  we  were  things  born 

Not  to  shed  a  tear, 
I  know  not  how  thy  joy  we  ever  could  come  near. 

Better  than  all  measures 
Of  delight  and  sound, 
Better  than  all  treasures 
That  in  books  are  found, 
Thy  skill  to  poet  were,  thou  scorner  of  the  ground ! 

Teach  me  half  the  gladness 

That  thy  brain  must  know, 
Such  harmonious  madness 
From  my  lips  would  flow, 
The  world  should  listen  then,  as  I  am  listening  now. 


OH  !   THERE  ARE  SPIRITS. 

Oh  !  there  are  spirits  in  the  air, 

And  genii  of  the  evening  breeze, 
And  gentle  ghosts,  with  eyes  as  fair 
As  star-beams  among  twilight  trees  : — 
Such  lovely  ministers  to  meet 
Oft  hast  thou  tum'd  from  men  thy  lonely  feet. 

With  mountain  winds,  and  babbling  springs, 

And  mountain  seas,  that  are  the  voice 
Of  these  inexplicable  things, 

Thou  didst  hold  commune,  and  rejoice 
When  they  did  answer  thee  ;  but  they 
Cast,  like  a  worthless  boon,  thy  love  away. 

And  thou  hast  sought  in  starry  eyes 

Beams  that  were  never  meant  for  thine, 
Another's  wealth  ; — tame  sacrifice 
To  a  fond  faith  !  still  dost  thou  pine  ? 
Still  dost  thou  hope  that  greeting  hands, 
Voice,  looks,  or  lips,  may  answer  thy  demands  ? 

Ah  !  wherefore  didst  thou  build  thine  hope 
On  the  false  earth's  inconstancy? 

Did  thine  own  mind  afford  no  scope 
Of  love,  or  moving  thoughts  to  thee  ? 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  431 

That  natural  scenes  or  human  smiles 

Could  steal  the  power  to  wind  thee  in  their  wiles. 

Yes,  all  the  faithless  smiles  are  fled 

Whose  falsehood  left  thee  broken-hearted; 
The  glory  of  the  moon  is  dead  ; 

Night's  ghosts  and  dreams  have  now  departed; 
Thine  own  soul  still  is  true  to  thee, 
But  changed  to  a  foul  fiend  through  misery. 

This  fiend,  whose  ghastly  presence  ever 

Beside  thee  like  thy  shadow  hangs, 
Dream  not  to  chase  ; — the  mad  endeavour 
Would  scourge  thee  to  severer  pangs. 
Be  as  thou  art.     Thy  settled  fate, 
Dark  as  it  is,  all  change  would  aggravate. 


SUPERSTITION. 

Thou  faintest  all  thou  look'st  upon !     The  stars, 
Which  on  thy  cradle  beam'd  so  brightly  sweet, 
Were  gods  to  the  distemper'd  playfulness 
Of  thy  untutor'd  infancy ;  the  trees, 
The  grass,  the  clouds,  the  mountains,  and  the  sea, 
All  living  things  that  walk,  swim,  creep,  or  fly, 
Were  gods  ;  the  sun  had  homage,  and  the  moon 
Her  worshipper.     Then  thou  becamest,  a  boy, 
More  daring  in  thy  frenzies .  every  shape, 
Monstrous  or  vast,  or  beautifully  wild, 
Which,  from  sensation's  relics,  fancy  culls  ; 
The  spirits  of  the  air,  the  shuddering  ghost, 
The  genii  of  the  elements,  the  powers 
That  give  a  shape  to  nature's  varied  works, 
Had  life  and  place  in  the  corrupt  belief 
Of  thy  blind  heart:  yet  still  thy  youthful  hands 
Were  pure  of  human  blood.     Then  manhood  gave 
Its  strength  and  ardour  to  thy  frenzied  brain: 
Thine  eager  gaze  scann'd  the  stupendous  scene, 
Whose  wonders  mock'd  the  knowledge  of  thy  pride  ; 
Their  everlasting  and  unchanging  laws 
Reproach'd  thine  ignorance.     A  while  thou  stoodest 
Baffled  and  gloomy ;  then  thou  didst  sum  up 
The  elements  of  all  that  thou  didst  know; 
The  changing  seasons,  winter's  leafless  reign, 
The  budding  of  the  heaven-breathing  trees, 
The  eternal  orbs  that  beautify  the  night, 
The  sun-rise,  and  the  setting  of  the  moon, 
Earthquakes  and  wars,  and  poisons  and  disease, 


432  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

And  all  their  causes,  to  an  abstract  point, 
Converging,  thou  didst  give  it  name,  and  form, 
Intelligence,  and  unity,  and  power. 


MUTABILITY. 

We  are  as  clouds  that  veil  the  midnight  moon  ; 

How  restlessly  they  speed,  and  gleam,  and  quiver, 
Streaking  the  darkness  radiantly! — yet  soon 

Night  closes  round,  and  they  are  lost  for  ever: 

Or  like  forgotten  lyres,  whose  dissonant  strings 
Give  various  response  to  each  varying  blast, 

To  whose  frail  frame  no  second  motion  brings 
One  mood  or  modulation  like  the  last. 

We  rest — A  dream  has  power  to  poison  sleep ; 

We  rise — One  wandering  thought  pollutes  the  day; 
We  feel,  conceive  or  reason,  laugh  or  weep, 

Embrace  fond  woe,  or  cast  our  cares  away  : 

It  is  the  same  ! — For,  be  it  joy  or  sorrow, 
The  path  of  its  departure  still  is  free : 
Man's  yesterday  may  ne'er  be  like  his  morrow; 
Nought  may  endure  but  Mutability. 


A  BRIDAL  SONG. 

The  golden  gates  of  sleep  unbar 

Where  strength  and  beauty  met  together, 
Kindle  their  image  like  a  star 

In  a  sea  of  glassy  weather. 
Night,  with  all  thy  stars  look  down, — 

Darkness,  weep  thy  holiest  dew, — 
Never  smiled  the  inconstant  moon 

On  a  pair  so  true. 
Let  eyes  not  see  their  own  delight  j — 
Haste,  swift  Hour,  and  thy  flight 
Oft  renew. 

Fairies,  sprites,  and  angels,  keep  her. 

Holy  stars,  permit  no  wrong  ! 
And  return  to  wake  the  sleeper, 

Dawn, — ere  it  be  long. 
O  joy  !  0  fear  !  what  will  be  done 

In  the  absence  of  the  sun  ! 
Come  along ! 


433 

THE 

MASQUE    OF    ANARCHY. 


As  1  lay  asleep  in  Italy, 
There  came  a  voice  from  over  the  sea, 
And  with  great  power  it  forth  led  me. 
To  walk  in  the  visions  of  Poesy. 


I  met  Murder  on  the  way — 
He  had  a  mask  like  Castlereagh — 
Very  smooth  he  looked,  yet  grim  ; 
Seven  bloodhounds  followed  him: 

in. 

All  were  fat ;  and  well  they  might 

Be  in  admirable  plight, 

For  one  by  one,  and  two  by  two, 

He  tossed  them  human  hearts  to  chew, 

Which  from  his  wide  cloak  he  drew. 

IV. 

Next  came  Fraud,  and  he  had  on, 

Like  Lord  E ,  an  ermine  gown ; 

His  big  tears,  for  he  wept  well, 
Turned  to  mill-stones  as  they  fell ; 


And  the  little  children,  who 

Round  his  feet  played  to  and  fro, 

Thinking  every  tear  a  gem, 

Had  their  brains  knocked  out  by  them. 


Clothed  with  the  bible  as  with  light, 
And  the  shadow  of  the  night, 
Like  S  *  *  *  next,  Hypocrisy, 
On  a  crocodile  came  by. 


THE  MASQUE  OF   ANARCHY. 

VII. 

And  many  more  Destructions  played 
In  this  ghastly  masquerade, 
All  disguised,  even  to  the  eyes, 
Like  bishops,  lawyers,  peers,  or  spies. 

VIII. 

Last  came  Anarchy  ;  he  rode 

On  a  white  horse  splashed  with  blood; 

He  was  pale  even  to  the  lips, 

Like  Death  in  the  Apocalypse. 

IX. 

And  he  wore  a  kingly  crown ; 
In  his  hand  a  sceptre  shone  ; 
On  his  brow  this  mark  I  saw — 
I  am  God,  and  King,  and  Law  !" 

x. 

With  a  pace  stately  and  fast, 
Over  English  land  he  past, 
Trampling  to  a  mire  of  blood 
The  adoring  multitude. 


And  a  mighty  troop  around, 

With  their  trampling  shook  the  ground, 

Waving  each  a  bloody  sword, 

For  the  service  of  their  Lord. 

XII. 

And,  with  glorious  triumph,  they 
Rode  through  England,  proud  and  gay, 
Drunk  as  with  intoxication 
Of  the  wine  of  desolation. 

XIII. 

O'er  fields  and  towns,  from  sea  to  sea, 
Passed  the  pageant  swift  and  free, 
Tearing  up,  and  trampling  down, 
Till  they  came  to  London  town. 

XIV. 

And  rach  dweller,  panic-stricken, 
Felt  his  heart  with  terror  stricken, 
Heav'nir  the  tremendous  cry 
Of  uie  triumph  of  Anarchy. 


THE  MASQUE  OF    ANARCHY.  435 

xv. 

For  with  pomp  to  meet  him  came, 
Clothed  in  arms  like  blood  and  flame, 
The  hired  murdcers  who  did  sing, 
"  Thou  art  God,  and  Law,  and  King. 

XVI. 

"  We  have  waited,  weak  and  lone, 

For  thy  coming,  Mighty  One  ! 

Our  purses  are  empty,  our  swords  are  cold, 

Give  us  glory,  and  blood,  and  gold." 

XVII. 

Lawyers  and  priests,  a  motley  crowd, 
To  the  earth  their  pale  brows  bowed, 
Like  a  bad  prayer  not  over  loud, 
Whispering — "  Thou  art  Law  and  God !' 

XVIII. 

Then  all  cried  with  one  accord, 
'  Tbou  art  King,  and  Law,  and  Lord; 
Anarchy,  to  thee  we  bow, 
Be  thy  name  made  holy  now  !" 

XIX. 

And  Anarchy,  the  skeleton, 

Bowed  and  grinned  to  every  one, 

As  well  as  it'  his  education  * 

Had  cost  ten  millions  to  the  nation. 

xx. 

For  he  knew  the  palaces 
Of  our  kings  were  nightly  his  ; 
His  the  sceptre,  crown,  and  globe, 
And  the  gold-inwoven  robe. 

XXI. 

So  he  sent  his  slaves  before 
To  seize  upon  die  Bank  and  Tower, 
And  was  proceeding  with  intent 
To  meet  his  pensioned  parliament, 


When  one  fled  past,  a  maniac  maid, 
And  her  name  was  Hope,  she  said  : 
But  she  looked  more  like  despair  ; 
And  she  cried  out  in  the  air  : 


436  THE  MASQUE  OF   ANARCHY. 


'  My  father,  Time  is  weak  and  gray 
With  waiting  for  a  better  day; 
See  how  idiot-like  he  stands, 
Trembling  with  his  palsied  hands  I 


"  He  has  had  child  after  child, 
And  the  dust  of  death  is  piled 
Over  every  one  but  me, — 
Misery!  oh,  Misery!" 

xxv. 
Then  she  lay  down  in  the  street, 
Right  before  the  horses'  feet, 
Expecting  with  a  patient  eye, 
Murder,  Fraud,  and  Anarchy. 

XXVI. 

When  between  her  and  her  foes 
A  mist,  a  light,  an  image  rose, 
Small  at  first,  and  weak  and  frail 
Like  the  vapour  of  the  vale  : 


Till  as  clouds  grow  on  the  blast, 
Like  tower-crowned  giants  striding  fast, 
And  glare  with  lightnings  as  they  fly, 
And  speak  in  thunder  to  the  sky. 


It  grew — a  shape  arrayed  in  mail 
Brighter  than  the  viper's  scale, 
And  upborne  on  wings  whose  grain 
Was  like  the  light  of  sunny  rain. 

XXIX. 

On  its  helm,  seen  far  away, 

A  planet,  like  the  morning's  lay; 

And  those  plumes  it  light  rained  through, 

Like  a  shower  of  crimson  dew. 

XXX. 

With  step  as  soft  as  wind  it  passed 
O'er  the  heads  of  men — so  fast 
That  they  knew  the  presence  there, 
And  looked,  — and  all  was  empty  air. 


THE  MASQUE  OF   ANARCHY.  437 

XXXI. 

As  flowers  beneath  May's  footsteps  waken, 
As  stars  from  night's  loose  hair  are  shaken, 
As  waves  arise  when  loud  winds  call, 
Thoughts  sprung  where'er  that  step  did  fall. 


And  the  prostrate  multitude 
Looked — and  ankle-deep  in  blood, 
Hope,  that  maiden  most  serene, 
Was  walking  with  a  quiet  mien  : 

XXXIII. 

And  Anarchy,  the  ghastly  birth, 

Lay  dead  earth  upon  the  earth  ; 

The  Horse  of  Death,  tameless  as  wind, 

Fled,  and  with  his  hoofs  did  grind 

To  dust  the  murderers  thronged  behind. 

XXXIV. 

A  rushing  light  of  clouds  and  splendour, 
A  sense,  awakening  and  yet  tender, 
Was  heard  and  felt— and  at  its  close 
These  words  of  joy  and  fear  arose  : 


As  if  their  own  indignant  earth, 
Which  gave  the  sons  of  England  birth, 
Had  felt  their  blood  upon  her  brow, 
And  shuddering  with  a  mother's  throe, 

xxxvi. 

Had  turned  every  drop  of  blood, 

By  which  her  face  had  been  bedewed, 

To  an  accent  unwithstood, 

As  if  her  heart  had  cried  aloud  : 

XXXV 1 1. 

"  Men  of  England,  Heirs  of  Glory, 
Heroes  of  unwritten  story, 
Nurslings  of  one  mighty  mother, 
Hopes  of  her,  and  one  another! 

XXXVIII. 

"  Rise,  like  lions  after  slumber, 
In  unvanquishable  number, 


438  THE  MASQUE  OF    ANARCHY. 

Shake  your  chains  to  earth  like  dew, 
Which  in  sleep  had  fall'n  on  you. 
Ye  are  many,  they  are  few. 


XXXIX. 

'  What  is  Freedom  ?   Ye  can  tell 
That  which  Slavery  is  too  well, 
For  its  very  name  has  grown 
To  an  echo  of  your  own. 

XL. 

'Tis  to  work,  and  have  such  pay 
As  just  keeps  life  from  day  to  da/ 
In  your  limbs  as  in  a  cell 
For  the  tyrants  use  to  dwell : 

XLI. 

So  that  ye  for  them  are  made, 
Loom,  and  plough,  and  sword,  and  spade; 
With  or  without  your  own  will,  bent 
To  their  defence  and  nourishment. 

XLII. 

1  'Tis  to  see  your  children  weak 
With  their  mothers  pine  and  peak, 
When  the  winter  winds  are  bleak  :— 
They  are  dying  whilst  I  speak. 

XLIII. 

'  'Tis  to  hunger  for  such  diet 
As  the  rich  man  in  his  riot 
Casts  to  the  fat  dogs  that  lie 
Surfeiting  beneath  his  eye. 

XLIV. 

'Tis  to  let  the  Ghost  of  Gold 
Take  from  toil  a  thousand-fold 
More  than  e'er  its  substance  could 
In  the  tyrannies  of  old  : 

XLV. 

*  Paper  coin — that  forgery 
Of  the  title  deeds,  which  ye 
Hold  to  something  of  the  worth 
Of  the  inheritance  of  Earth. 


THE  MASQUE  OF   ANARCHY. 

XLVI. 

■  'Tis  to  be  a  siave  in  soul, 
And  to  hold  no  strong  controul 
Over  your  own  wills,  but  be 
All  that  others  make  of  ye. 

XLVII. 

"  And  at  length  when  ye  complain, 
With  a  murmur  weak  and  vain, 
'Tis  to  see  the  tyrant's  crew 
Ride  over  your  wives  and  you  : — 
Blood  is  on  the  grass  like  dew  ! 

XLVI  1 1. 

"  Then  it  is  to  feel  revenge, 
Fiercely  thirsting  to  exchange 
Blood  for  blood — and  wrong  for  wrong : 
Do  not  thus  when  ye  are  strong ! 

XL  IX. 

"  Birds  find  rest  in  narrow  nest, 
When  weary  of  their  winged  quest; 
Beasts  find  fare  in  woody  lair, 
When  storm  and  snow  are  in  the  air. 

L. 

"  Horses,  oxen,  have  a  home, 
When  from  daily  toil  they  come; 
Household  dogs,  when  the  wind  roars, 
Find  a  home  within  warm  doors. 

LI. 

"  Asses,  swine,  have  litter  spread, 
And  with  fitting  food  are  fed  ; 
All  things  have  a  home  but  one  : 
Thou,  O  Englishman,  hast  none ! 


;  This  is  slavery — savage  men, 
Or  wild  beasts  within  a  den, 
Would  endure  not  as  ye  do  : 
But  such  ills  they  never  knew. 

LIII. 

:  What  art  thou,  Freedom  ?  Oh  !  could  slaves 
Answer  from  their  living  graves 
This  demand,  tyrants  would  flee 
Like  a  dream's  dim  imagery. 


440  THE  MASQUE  OF  ANARCHY. 

LIV. 

"  Thou  art  not,  as  impostors  say, 
A  shadow  soon  to  pass  away, 
A  superstition,  and  a  name 
Echoing  from  the  cave  of  Fame. 


'  For  the  labourer  thou  art  bread 
And*  a  comely  table  spread, 
From  his  daily  labour  come, 
In  a  neat  and  happy  home. 

LVI. 

Thou  art  clothes,  and  fire,  and  food 
For  the  trampled  multitude  : 
No — in  counties  that  are  free 
Such  starvation  cannot  be, 
As  in  England  now  we  see. 


1  To  the  rich  thou  art  a  check  ; 
When  his  foot  is  on  the  neck 
Of  his  victim,  thou  dost  make 
That  he  treads  upon  a  snake. 


'  Thou  art  Justice — ne'er  for  gold 
May  thy  righteous  laws  be  sold, 
As  laws  are  in  England  : — thou 
Shieldest  alike  the  high  and  low. 


LVIX. 

'Thou  art  Wisdom — freemen  never 
Dream  that  God-will  doom  for  ever 
All  who  think  those  things  untrue, 
Of  which  priests  make  such  ado. 


'  Thou  art  Peace — never  by  tbeo 
Would  blood  and  treasures  wasted  be, 
As  tyrants  wasted  them,  when  all 
Leagued  to  quench  thy  flame  in  Gaul. 

LXI. 

1  What  if  English  toil  and  blood 
Was  poured  forth,  even  as  a  flood  ? 


THE  MASQUE  OF  ANARCHY.  441 

It  availed, — O  Liberty ! 

To  dim — but  not  extinguish  thee. 

LXII. 

"  Thou  art  Love— the  rich  have  kist 
Thy  feet  j  and  like  him  following  Christ, 
Gicen  their  substance  to  the  free, 
And  through  the  rough  world  followed  thee. 


"Oh  turn  their  wealth  to  arms,  and  make 
War  for  thy  beloved  sake, 
On  wealth  and  war  and  fraud  j  whence  they 
Drew  the  power  which  is  their  prey. 

LXIV. 

"  Science,  and  Poetry,  and  Thought, 
Are  thy  lamps  ;  they  make  the  lot 
Of  the  dwellers  in  a  cot 
Such,  they  curse  their  maker  not. 

LXV. 

"  Spirit,  Patience,  Gentleness, 
All  that  can  adorn  and  bless, 
Art  thou  :  let  deeds,  not  words,  express 
Thine  exceeding  loveliness. 

LXVI. 

"  Let  a  great  assembly  be 
Of  the  fearless  and  the  free, 
On  some  spot  of  English  ground, 
Where  the  plains  stretch  wide  around. 

LXVII. 

"  Let  the  blue  sky  overhead, 
The  green  earth  on  which  ye  tread, 
All  that  must  eternal  be, 
Witness  the  solemnity. 


Lxvm. 
'■  From  the  corners  uttermost 
Of  the  bounds  of  English  coast; 
From  every  hut,  village,  and  town, 
Where  those  who  live  and  suffer,  moan 
For  other's  misery,  or  their  own  : 


442  THF  MASQUE  OF  ANARCHY. 

LXIX. 

"  From  the  workhouse  and  the  prison, 
Where  pale  as  corpses  newly  risen, 
Women,  children,  young,  and  old, 
Groan  for  pain,  and  weep  for  cold ; 

LXX. 

"  From  the  haunts  of  daily  life, 
Where  is  waged  the  daily  strife 
With  common  wants  and  common  cares, 
Which  sow  the  human  heart  with  tares. 

LXXI. 

"  Lastly,  from  the  palaces, 
Where  the  murmur  of  distress 
Echoes,  like  the  distant  sound 
Of  a  wind,  alive,  around ; 

LXXII. 

"  Those  prison-halls  of  wealth  and  fashion, 
Where  some  few  feel  such  compassion 
For  those  who  groan,  and  toil,  and  wail, 
As  must  make  their  brethren  pale ; 

LXXIII. 

"  Ye  who  suffer  woes  untold, 
Or  to  feel,  or  to  behold 
Your  lost  country  bought  and  sold 
With  a  price  of  blood  and  gold. 

LXXIV. 

"  Let  a  vast  assembly  be, 
And  with  great  solemnity 
Declare  with  ne'er  said  words,  that  ye 
Art,  as  God  has  made  ye,  free. 

LXXV. 

"  Be  your  strong  and  simple  words 
Keen  to  wound  as  sharpened  swords, 
And  wide  as  targes  let  them  be, 
With  their  shade  to  cover  ye. 

LXXVI. 

"  Let  the  tyrants  pour  around 
With  a  quick  and  startling  sound, 
Like  the  loosening  of  a  sea, 
Troops  of  armed  emblazonry 


THE  MASQUE  OF  ANAECHY.  443 

LXXVII. 

"  Let  the  charged  artillery  drive, 
Till  the  dead  air  seems  alive 
With  the  clash  of  clanging  wheels, 
And  the  tramp  of  horses'  heels. 

LXXVIII. 

"  Let  the  fixed  bayonet 
Gleam  with  sharp  desire  to  wet 
Its  bright  r>oint  in  English  blood, 
Looking  keen  as  one  for  food. 

LXXIX. 

*  Let  the  horsemen's  scimitars 
Wheel  and  flash,  like  sphereless  stars, 
Thirsting  to  eclipse  their  burning 
In  a  sea  of  death  and  mourning. 

LXXX. 

"  Stand  ye  calm  and  resolute, 
Like  a  forest  close  and  mute, 
With  folded  arms,  and  looks  which  are 
Weapons  of  an  uhvanquished  war. 

LXXXI. 

"  And  let  Panic,  who  outspceds 
The  career  of  armed  steeds 
Pass,  a  disregarded  shade, 
Through  your  phalanx  undismayed. 

LXXXII. 

"  Let  the  laws  of  your  own  land, 
Good  or  ill,  between  ye  stand, 
Hand  to  hand,  and  foot  to  foot, 
Arbiters  of  the  dispute. 

LXXXIII. 

"   The  old  laws  of  England— they 

Whose  reverend  heads  with  age  are  grey, 
Children  of  a  wiser  day; 
And  whose  solemn  voice  must  be 
Thine  own  echo — Liberty  ! 

LXXXIV. 

"  On  those  who  first  should  violate 
Such  sacred  heralds  in  their  state, 
Rest  the  blood  that  must  ensue 
And  it  will  not  rest  on  you. 
38* 


444  THE  MASQUE  OF  ANARCHY. 

LXXXV. 

"  And  if  then  the  tyrants  dare, 
Let  them  ride  among  you  there ; 
Slash,  and  stab,  and  maim,  and  hew; 
What  they  like,  that  let  them  do. 

LXXXVI. 

"  With  folded  arms  and  steady  eyes, 
And  little  fear,  and  less  surprise, 
Look  upon  them  as  they  slay, 
Till  their  rage  has  died  away  : 

LXXXVII. 

"  Then  they  will  return  with  shame, 
To  the  place  from  which  they  came 
And  the  blood  thus  shed  will  speak 
In  hot  blushes  on  their  cheek : 

LXXXVIII. 

"  Every  woman  in  the  land 
Will  point  at  them  as  they  stand — 
They  will  hardly  dare  to  greet 
Their  acquaintance  in  the  street 

LXXXIX. 

"  And  the  bold  true  warriors, 
Who  have  hugged  danger  in  the  wars, 
Will  turn  to  those  who  would  be  free, 
Ashamed  of  such  base  company : 


"  And  that  slaughter  to  the  nation 
Shall  steam  up  like  inspiration, 
Eloquent,  oracular, 
A  volcano  heard  afar  : 

xci. 
•  And  these  words  shall  then  become 
Like  Oppression's  thundered  doom, 
Rmging  through  each  heart  and  brain, 
Heard  again — agafn — again ! 


;  Rise,  like  lions  after  slumber 
In  unvanquishable  number ! 
Shake  your  chains  to  earth,  like  dew 
Which  in  sleep  had  fallen  on  you  : 
Ye  are  many — they  are  few !" 


447 

ALASTOE; 

OR, 

THE  SPIRIT  OF  SOLITUDE. 


Nondum  amabam,  et  amare  amabam,  quaerebam  quid  amatem  amain 
amare, — Confess.  St.  August. 

Eahth,  ocean,  air,  beloved  brotherhood  ! 

If  our  great  Mother  havo  imbued  my  soul 

With  aught  of  natural  piety  to  feel 

Your   love,  and  recompense  the  boon  with  mine; 

If  dewy  morn,  and  odorous  noon,  and  even, 

With  sunset  and  its  gorgeous  ministers 

And  solemn  midnight's  tingling  silentness  ; 

If  autumn's  hollow  sighs  in  the  sere  wood, 

And  winter  robing  with  pure  snow  and  crowns 

Of  starry  ice  the  grey  grass  and  bare  boughs ; 

If  spring's  voluptuous  pantings  when  she  breathes 

Her  first  sweet  kisses,  have  been  dear  to  me; 

If  no  bright  bird,  insect,  or  gentle  beast 

I  consciously  have  injured,  but  still  loved 

And  cherished  these  my  kindred  ; — then  forgive 

This  boast,  beloved  brethren,  and  withdraw 

No  portion  of  your  wonted  favour  now ! 

Mother  of  this  unfathomable  world  ! 
Favour  my  solemn  song,  for  I  have  loved 
Thee  ever,  and  thee  only  ;  I  have  watched 
Thy  shadow,  and  the  darkness  of  thy  steps 
And  my  heart  ever  gazes  on  the  depth 
Of  thy  deep  mysteries.      I  have  made  made  my  bed 
In  charnels  and  on  coffins,  where  black  death 
Keeps  record  of  the  trophies  won  from  thee, 
Hoping  to  still  these  obstinate  questionings 
Of  thee  and  thine,  by  forcing  some  lone  ghost, 
Thy  messenger,  to  render  up  the  tale 
Of  what  we  are.      In  lone  and  silent  hours, 
When  night  makes  a  vvierd  sound  of  its  own  stillness, 
Like  an  inspired  and  desperate  alchymist 
Staking  his  /eiy  life  on  some  dark  hope, 
Have  1  mixed  awful  talk  and  asking  looks 
With  my  most  innocent  love,  until  strange  tears, 
Uniting  with  those  breathless  kisses,  made 
Such  magic  as  compels  the  charmed  night 


448  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

To  render  up  thy  charge  and  though  ne'er  yet 

Thou  hast  unveiled  thy  inmost  sanctuary  ; 

Enough  from  incommunicable  dream, 

And  twilight  phantasms  and  deep  noonday  thought, 

Has  shone  within  me.  that  serenely  now, 

And  moveless  as  a  long-forgotten  lyre, 

Suspended  in  the  solitary  dome 

Of  some  mysterious  and  deserted  fane, 

I  wait  thy  brea'.h,  Great  Parent  that  my  strain 

May  modulate  with  murmurs  of  the  air, 

And  motions  of  the  forests,  and  the  sea, 

And  voice  of  living  beings,  and  woven  hymns 

Of  night  and  day,  and  the  deep  hearfof  man. 

There  was  a  Poet  whose  untimely  tomb 
No  human  hands  with  pious  reverence  reared, 
But  the  charmed  eddies  of  autumnal  winds 
Built  over  his  mouldering  hones  a  pyramid 
Of  mouldering  leaves  in  the  waste  wilderness 
A  lovely  youth, — no  mourning  maiden  decked 
With  weeping  flowers,  or  votive  cypress  wreath, 
The  lone  couch  of  his  everlasting  sleep  ; 
Gentle,  and  brave,  and  generous,  no  lorn  bard 
Breathed  o'er  his  dark  fate  one  melodious  sigh 
He  lived,  he  died,  he  sang,  in  solitude. 
Strangers  have  wept  to  hear  his  passionate  notes, 
And  virgins  as  unknown  he  pass'd,  have  pined 
And  wasted  for  fond  love  of  his  wild  eyes. 
The  fire  of  those  soft  orbs  has  ceased  to  burn, 
And  Silence  too,  enamoured  of  that  voice, 
Locks  its  mute  music  in  her  rugged  cell. 

By  solemn  vision  and  bright  silver  dream 
His  infancy  was  nurtured.  Every  sight 
And  sound  from  the  vast  earth  and  ambient  air 
Sent  to  his  heart  its  choicest  impulses. 
The  fountains  of  divine  philosophy 
Fled  not  his  thirsting  lips  ;  and  all  of  great 
Or  good,  or  lovely,  which  the  sacred  past 
In  truth  or  fable  consecrates,  he  felt 
And  knew.     When  early  youth  had  past,  he  left 
His  cold  fire-side  and  alienated  home 
To  seek  strange  truths  in  undiscovered  lands. 
Many  a  wide  waste  and  tangled  wilderness 
Has  lured  his  fearless  steps  ;  and  he  has  bought 
With  his  sweet  voice  and  eyes,  from  savage  men, 
His  rest  and  food. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  449 

Indus  and  Oxus  from  tlieir  icy  caves, 
In  joy  and  exultation  held  his  way  ; 
Till  in  the  vale  of  Cachmire,  far  within 
Its  loneliest  dell,  where  odorous  plants  entwine 
Beneath  the  hollow  rocks  a  natural  bower, 
Beside  a  sparkling  rivulet  he  stretched 
His  languid  limbs.     A  vision  on  his  sleep 
There  came,  a  dream  of  hopes  that  never  yet 
Had  flushed  his  cheek.     He  dreamed  a  veiled  maid 
Sat  near  him,  talking  in  low  solemn  tones. 
Her  voice  was  like  the  voice  of  his  own  soul 
Heard  in  the  calm  of  thought ;  its  music  long 
Like  woven  sounds  of  streams  and  breezes,  held 
His  inmost  sense  suspended  in  its   web 
Of  many-coloured  woof  and  shifting  hues. 
Knowledge,  and  truth,  and  virtue  were  her  theme, 
And  lofty  hopes  of  divine  liberty, 
Thoughts  the  most  dear  to  him,  and  poesy, 
Herself  a  poet.     Soon  the  solemn  mood 
Of  her  pure  mind  kindled  through  all  her  frame 
A  permeating  fire  :  wild  numbers  then 
She  raised,  with  voice  stifled  in  tremulous  sobs 
Subdued  by  its  own  pathos  :  her  lair  hands 
Were  bare  alone,  sweeping  from  some  strange  harp 
Strange  symphony,  and  in  their  branching  veins 
The  eloquent  blood  told  an  ineffable  tale. 
The  beating  of  her  heart  was  heard  to  fill 
The  pauses  of  her  music,  and  her  breath 
Tumultuously  accorded  with  those  fits 
Of  intermitted  song.     Sudden  she  rose, 
As  if  her  heart  impatiently  endured 
Its  bursting  burthen:  at  the  sound  he  turned, 
And  saw  by  the  warm  light  of  their  own  life 
Her  glowing  limbs  beneath  the  sinuous  veil 
Of  woven  wind;  her  outspread  arms  now  bare, 
Her  dark  locks  floating  in  the  breath  of  night 
Her  beamy  bending  eyes,  her  parted  lips  I 

Outstretched,  and  pale,  and  quivering  eagerly. 
His  strong  heart  sank  and  sickened  with  excess 
Of  love.     He  reared  his  shuddering  limbs  and  quelled 
His  gasping  breath,  and  spread  his  arms  to  meet 
Her  panting  bosom  :  she  drew  back  awhile, 
Then,  yielding  to  the  irresistible  joy, 
With  frantic  gesture  and  short  breathless  cry 
Folded  his  frame  in  her  dissolving  arms. 
Now  blackness  veiled  his  dizzy  eyes,  and  night 
Involved  and  swallowed  up  the  vision  ;  sleep, 
Like  a  dark  flood  suspended  in  its  course, 
Rolled  back  its  impulse  on  his  vacant  brain. 


450  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

He  would  linger  long 
In  lonesome  vales,  making  the  wild  his  home, 
Until  the  doves  and  squirrels  would  partake 
From  his  inocuous  hand  his  bloodless  food, 
Lured  by  the  gentle  meaning  of  his  looks, 
And  the  wild  antelope,  that  starts  whene'er 
The  dry  leaf  rustles  in  the  brake,  suspend 
Her  timid  steps,  to  gaze  upon  a  form 
More  graceful  than  her  own. 

His  wandering  step, 
Obedient  to  high  thoughts,  has  visited 
The  awful  ruins  of  the  days  of  old : 
Athens,  and  Tyre,  and  Balbec,  and  the  waste 
Where  stood  Jerusalem,  the  fallen  towers 
Of  Babylon,  the  eternal  pyramids, 
Memphis  and  Thebes,  and  whatsoe'er  of  strange 
Sculptured  on  alabaster  obelisk, 
Or  jasper  tomb,  or  mutilated  sphinx, 
Dark  Ethiopia  on  her  desert  hills 
Conceals.     Among  the  ruined  temples  there 
Stupendous  columns,  and  wild  images 
Of  more  than  man,  where  marble  demons  watch 
The  Zodiac's  brazen  mystery,  and  dead  men 
Hang  their  mute  thoughts  on  the  mute  walls  around, 
He  lingered,  pouring  on  memorials 
Of  the  world's  youth,  through  the  long  burning  day 
Gazed  on  those  speechless  shapes,  nor,  when  the  moon 
Filled  the  mysterious  halls  with  floating  shades, 
Suspended  he  that  task — but  ever  gazed 
And  gazed,  till  meaning  on  his  vacant  mind 
Flashed  like  strong  inspiration,  and  he  saw 
The  thrilling  secrets  of  the  birth  of  time. 

Meanwhile  an  Arab  maiden  brought  his  food, 
Her  daily  portion,  from  her  fathers  tent, 
And  spread  her  matting  for  his  couch,  and  stole 
From  duties  and  repose  to  tend  his  steps  : — 
Enamoured,  yet  not  daring  for  deep  awe 
To  speak  her  love  : — and  watched  his  nightly  sleep 
Sleepless  herself,  to  gaze  upon  his  lips 
Parted  in  slumber,  whence  the  regular  breath 
Of  innocent  dreams  arose  ;  then  when  red  morn 
Made  paler  the  pale  moon,  to  her  cold  home, 
Wildered,  and  wan,  and  panting,  she  returned. 

The  Poet,  wandering  on,  through  Arabie 
And  Persia,  and  the  wild  Carmanian  waste, 
And  o'er  the  aerial  mountains  which  pour  down 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  451 

Roused  by  the  shock,  he  started  from  his  trance — 

The  cold  white  light  of  morning,  the  blue  moon 

Low  in  the  west,  the  clear  and  garish  hills, 

The  distinct  valley  anil  the  vacant  woods, 

Spread  round  him  where  he  stood.— VVhither  have  fled 

The  hues  of  heaven  that  canopied  his  bower 

Of  yesternight  ?     The  sounds  that  soothed  his  sleep, 

The  mystery  and  the  majesty  of  Earth, 

The  joy,  the  exultation  ?     His  wan  eyes 

Gaze  on  the  empty  scene  as  vacantly 

As  ocean's  moon  looks  on  the  moon  in  heaven. 

The  spirit  of  sweet  human  love  has  sent 

A  vision  to  the  sleep  of  him  who  spurned 

Her  choicest  gifts.     He  eagerly  pursues 

Beyond  the  realms  of  dream  that  fleeting  shade; 

He  overleaps  the  bounds.     Alas  !  alas  ! 

Were  limbs  and  breath  and  being  intertwined 

Thus  treacherously  ?     Lost,  lost,  for  ever  lost, 

In  the  wide  pathless  desert  ot  dim  sleep, 

That  beautiful  shape  !    does  the  dark  gate  of  death 

Conduct  to  thy  mysterious  paradise, 

O  Sleep  ?     Does  the  bright  arch  of  rainbow  clouds, 

And  pendent  mountains  seen  in  the  calm  lake, 

Lead  only  to  a  black  and  watery  depth, 

While  death's  blue  vault  with  loathliest  vapours  hung, 

Where  every  shade  which  the  foul  grave  exhales 

Hides  its  dead  eye  from  the  detested  day, 

Conduct,  O  Shep,  to  thy  delightful  realms? 

This  doubt  with  sudden  tide  flowed  on  his  heart, 

The  insatiate  hope  which  it  awakened,  stung 

His  brain  even  like  despair. 

While  day-light  held 
The  sky,  the  Poet  kept  mute  conference 
With  his  still  soul.     At  night  the  passion  came, 
Like  the  fierce  fiend  of  a  distempered  dream, 
And  shook  him  from  his  rest,  and  led  him  forth 
Into  the  darkness. — As  an  eagle,  grasped 
In  folds  of  the  green  serpent,  feels  her  breast 
Burn  with  the  poison,  and  precipitates 
Through  night  and  day,  tempest,  and  calm  and  cloud, 
Frantic  with  dizzying  anguish,  her  blind  flight 
O'ei  the  wild  aery  wilderness:  thus  driven 
By  the  bright  shadow  of  that  lovely  dream, 
Beneath  the  cold  glare  of  the  desolate  night, 
Through  tangled  swamps  and  deep  precipitous  cells, 
Startling  with  careless  step  the  moon-light  snake, 
He  fled. — Bed  morning  dawned  upon  his  flight, 
Shedding  the  mockery  of  its  vital  hues 


452  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Upon  his  cheek  of  death.     He  wandered  on, 

TUJ  vast  Aornos,  seen  from  Petra's  steep, 

Hung  o'er  the  low  horizon  like  a  cloud  ; 

Through  Balk,  and  where  the  desolated  tombs 

Of  Parthian    kings  scatter  to  every  wind 

Their  wasting  dust,  wildly  he  wandered  on, 

Day  after  day,  a  weary  waste  of  hours, 

Bearing  within  his  life  the  brooding  care 

That  ever  fed  on  its  decaying  flame. 

And  now  his  limbs  were  lean  ;  his  scattered  hair, 

Sered  by  the  autumn  of  strange  suffering, 

Sung  dirges  in  the  wind  ;  his  listless  hand 

Hung  like  dead  bone  within  its  withered  skin  ; 

Life,  and  the  lustre  that  consumed  it,  shone 

As  in  a  furnace  burning  secretly 

From  his  dark  eyes  alone.     The  cottagers, 

Who  ministered  with  human  charity 

His  human  wants,  beheld  with  wondering  awe 

Their  fleeting  visitant.     The  mountaineer, 

Encountering  on  some  dizzy  precipice 

That  spectral  form,  deemed  that  the  Spirit  of  wind 

With  lightning  eyes,  and  eager  breath  and  feet 

Disturbing  not  the  drifted  snow,  had  paused 

In  his  career.     The  infant  would  conceal 

His  troubled  visage  in  his  mother's  robe 

In  terror  at  the  glare  of  those  wild  eyes, 

To  remember  their  strange  light  in  many  a  dream 

Of  after-times  :  but  youthful  maidens,  taught 

By  nature,  would  interpret  half  the  woe 

That  wasted  him  , would  call  him  false  names, 

Brother,  and  friend  ;  would  press  his  pallid  hand 

At  parting,  and  watch,  dim  through  tears,  the  path 

Of  his  departure  from  their  father's  door. 

At  length  upon  the  lone  Chorasmian  shore 
He  paused,  a  wide  and  melancholy  waste 
Of  putrid  marshes — a  strong  impulse  urged 
His  steps  to  the  sea-shore.     A  swan  was  there, 
Beside  a  sluggish  stream  among  the  reeds. 
It  rose  as  be  approached,  and,  with  strong  wings 
Scaling  the  upward  sky,  bent  its  bright  course 
High  over  the  inmmeasurable  main. 
His  eyes  pursued  its  flight.—''  Thou  hast  a  home, 
Beautiful  bird  !  thou  voyagest  to  thine  home, 
Where  thy  sweet  mate  will  twine  her  downy  neck 
With  thine,  and  welcome  thy  return  with  eyes 
Bright  in  the  lustre  of  their  own  fond  joy. 
And  what  am  I  that  I  should  linger  here,' 
With  voice  far  sweeter  tjian  thy  dying  notes, 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  453 

Spirit  more  vast  than  thine,  frame  more  attuned 
To  beauty,  wasting  these  surpassing  powers 
In  the  deaf  air,  to  the  blind  earth,  and  heaven 
That  echoes  not  my  thoughts?"  A  gloomy  smile 
Of  desperate  hope  wrinkled  his  quivering  lips. 
For  sleep,  he  knew,  kept  most  relentlessly 
Its  precious  charge,  and  silent  death  exposed, 
Faithless  perhaps  as  sleep,  a  shadowy  lure, 
With  doubtful  smile  mocking  its  own  strange  charms. 

Startled  by  his  own  thoughts,  he  looked  around: 
There  was  no  fair  fiend  near  him,  not  a  sight 
Or  sound  of  awe  but  in  his  own  deep  mind. 
A  little  shallop  floating  near  the  shore 
Caught  the  impatient  wandering  of  his  gaze. 
It  had  been  long  abandoned,  for  its  sides 
Gaped  wide  with  many  a  rift,  and  its  frail  joints 
Swayed  with  the  undulations  of  the  tide. 
A  restless  impulse  urged  him  to  embark 
And  meet  lone  Death  on  the  drear  ocean's  waste  ; 
For  well  he  knew  that  mighty  Shadow  loves 
The  slimy  caverns  of  the  populous  deep. 

The  day  was  fair  and  sunny:  sea  and  sky 

Drank  its  inspiring  radiance,  and  the  wind 

Swept  strongly  from  the  shore,  blackening  the  waves. 

Following  his  eager  soul,  the  wanderer 

Leaped  in  the  boat ;  he  spread  his  cloak  aloft 

On  the  bare  mast,  and  took  his  lonely  seat, 

And  felt  the  boat  speed  o'er  the  tranquil  sea 

Like  a  torn  cloud  before  the  hurricane. 

As  one  that  in  a  silver  vision  floats 

Obedient  to  the  sweep  of  odorous  winds 

Upon  resplendent  clouds,  so  rapidly 

Along  the  dark  and  ruffled  waters  fled 

The  straining  boat. — A  whirlwind  swept  it  on, 

With  fierce  gusts  and  precipitating  force 

Through  the  white  ridges  of  the  chafed  sea. 

The  waves  arose.     Higher  and  higher  still 

Their  fierce  necks  writhed  beneath  the  tempest's  scourgo 

Like  serpents  struggling  in  a  vulture's  grasp. 

Calm  and  rejoicing  in  the  fearful  war 

Of  wave  running  on  wave,  and  blast  on  blast 

Descending,  and  black  flood,  on  whirlpool  driveu 

With  dark  obliterating  course,  he  sate  : 

As  if  their  genii  were  the  ministers 

Appointed  to  conduct  him  to  the  light 

Ot  those  beloved  eyes,  the  Poet  sate 


454  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Holding  the  steady  helm.     Evening  came  on  : 
The  beams  of  sunset  hung  their  rainbow  hues 
High  'mid  the  shitting  domes  of  sheeted  smajf 
That  canopied  his  path  o'er  the  waste  deep  ; 
Twilight,  ascending  slowly  from  the  east, 
Entwined  in  duskier  wreaths  her  braided  locks 
O'er  the  fair  front  and  radiant  eyes  of  dav  ; 
Night  followed,  clad  with  stars.     On  every  side 
More  horribly  the  multitudinous  streams 
Of  ocean's  mountainous  waste  to  mutual  war 
Hushed  in  dark  tumult  thundering,  as  to  mock 
The  calm  and  spangled  sky.     The  little  boat 
Still  fled  before  the  storm ;  still  fled,  like  foam 
Down  the  steep  cataract  of  a  wintry  river  ; 
Now  pausing  on  the  edge  of  the  riven  wave; 
Now  leaving  far  behind  the  bursting  mass 
That  fell,  convulsing  ocean.     Safely  fled — 
As  if  that  frail  and  wasted  human  form 
Had  been  an  elemental  god. 

At  midnight 
The  moon  arose  :  and  lo !  the  ethereal  cliffs 
Of  Caucasus,  whose  icy  summits  shone 
Among  the  stars  like  sunlight,  and  around 
Whose  caverned  base  the  whirlpools  and  the  waves, 
Bursting  and  eddying  irresistibly 
Rage  and  resound  for  ever. — Who  shall  save  ? 
The  boat  fled  on, — the  boiling  torrent  drove, — 
The  crags  closed  round  with  black  and  jagged  artfJl, 
The  shattered  mountain  overhung  the  sea, 
And  faster  still,  beyond  all   human  speed, 
Suspended  on  the  sweep  of  the  smooth  wave, 
The  little  boat  was  driven.     A  cavern  there 
Yawned,  and  amid  its  slant  and  winding  depths 
Inguiphed  the  rushing  sea.     The  boat  fled  on 
With  unrelaxing  speed.     "  Vision  and  Love," 
The  Poet  cried  aloud,  "  I  have  beheld 
The  path  of  thy  departure.     Sleep  and  death 
Shall  not  divide  us  long." 

The  boat  pursued 
The  windings  of  the  cavern. — Day-light  shone 
At  length  upon  that  gloomy  river's  flow ; 
Now,  where  the  fiercest  war  among  the  waves 
Is  calm,  on  the  unfathomable  stream 
The  boat  moved  slowly.     Where  the  mountain,  riven, 
Exposed  those  black  depths  to  the  azure  sky, 
Ere  yet  the  flood's   enormous  volume  fell 
Even  to  the  base  of  Caucasus,  with  sound 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  455 

That  shook  the  everlasting;  rocks,  the  mass 
Filled  with  one  whirpool  all  that  ample  chasm; 
Stair  above  stair  the  eddying  waters  rose, 
Circling-  immeasurably  fast,  and  laved 
With  alternating  clash  the  gnarled  roots 
Of  mighty  trees,   that  stretched  their  giant  arms 
In  darkness  over  it.     I*  the  midst  was  left, 
Reflecting,  yet  distorting  every  cloud, 
A  pool  of  treacherous  and  tremendous  calm, 
Seized  by  the  sway  of  the  ascending  stream, 
With  dizzy  swiftness,  round,  and  round,  and  round, 
Ridge  after  ridge  the  straining  boat  arose, 
Till  on  the  verge  of  the  extremest  curve, 
Where,  through  an  opening  of  the  rocky  bank, 
The  waters  overflow,  and  a  smooth  spot 
Of  glassy  quiet,  'mid  those  battling  tides 
Is  left, — the  boat  paused,  shuddering.     Shall  it  sink 
Down  the  abyss?  Shall  the  reverting  stress 
Of  that  resistless  gulf  embosom  it  ? 
Now  shall  it  fall  ?   A  wandering  stream  of  wind, 
Breathed  from  the  west,  has  caught  the  expanded  sail, 
And  lo!   with  gentle  motion  between  banks 
Of  mossy  slope,  and  on  a  placid  stream, 
Beneath  a  woven  grove,  it  sails,  and,  hark ! 
The  ghastly  torrent  mingles  its  far  roar 
With  the  breeze  murmuring  in  the  musical  woods. 
Where  the  embowering  trees  recede,  and  leave 
A  little  space  of  green  expanse,  the  cove 
Is  closed  by  meeting  banks,  whose  yellow  flowers 
For  ever  gaze  on  their  own  drooping  eyes, 
Reflected  in  the  crystal  calm.     The  wave 
Of  the  boat's  motion  marred  their  pensive  task, 
Which  nought  but  vagrant  bird,  or  wanton  wind, 
Or  falling  spear-grass,  or  their  own  decay 
Had  e'er  disturbed  before.     The  Poet  longed 
To  deck  with  their  bright  hues  his  withered  hair, 
But  on  his  heart  its  solitude  returned, 
And  he  forbore.     Not  the  strong  impulse  oid 
In  those  flushed  cheeks,  bent  eyes,  and  shadowy  frame, 
Had  yet  performed  its  ministry  :  it  hung 
Upon  his  life,  as  lightning  in  a  cloud 
Gleams,  hovering  ere  it  vanish,  ere  the  floods 
Of  night  close  over  it. 

The  noonday  sun 
Now  shone  upon  the  forest,  one  vast  mass 
Of  mingling  shade,  whose  brown  magnificence 
A  narrow  vale  embosoms.     There,  huge  caves, 
Sc  oped  in  the  dark  base  of  those  aery  rocks 


456  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Mocking  its  moans,  respond  and  roar  for  ever. 

The  meeting  boughs  and  implicated  leaves 

Wove  twilight  o'er  the  Poets  path,  as  led 

By  love,  or  dream,  or  god,  or  mightier  Death, 

He  sought  in  Nature's  dearest  luunt  some  bank, 

Her  c;adle,  and  his  sepulchre.     More  dark 

And  dark  the  shades  accumulate — the  oak, 

Expanding  its  immense  and  knotty  arms, 

Embraces  the  light  beech.     The  pyramids 

Of  the  tall  cedar  overarching,  frame 

Most  solemn  domes  within,  and  far  below, 

Like  clouds  suspended  in  an  emerald  sky, 

The  ash  and  the  acacia  floating  hang 

Tremulous  and  pale.     Like  restless  serpents,  clothed 

In  rainbow  and  in  fire,  the  parasites, 

Starred  with  ten  thousand  blossoms,  flow  around 

The  grey  trunks;  and,  as  gamesome  infants'  eyes, 

With  gentle  meanings  and  most  innocent  wiles, 

Fold  their  beams  round  the  hearts  of  those  that  love, 

These  twine  their  tendrils  with  the  wedded  boughs 

Uniting  their  close  union  ;  the  woven  leaves 

Make  net-work  of  the  dark  blue  light  of  day, 

And  the  night's  noontide  clearness,  mutable 

As  shapes  in  the  weird  clouds.     Soft  mossy  lawns 

Beneath  these  canopies  extend  their  swells, 

Fragrant  with  perfumed  herbs,  and  eyed  with  blooms 

Minute,  yet  beautiful.     One  darkest  glen 

Sends  from  its  woods  of  musk-rose,  twined  with  jasmine, 

A  soul-dissolving  odour,  to  invite 

To  some  more  lovely  mystery.     Through  the  dell, 

Silence  and  Twilight  here  twin-sisters,  keep 

Their  noonday  watch,  and  sail  among  the  shades 

Like  vapourous  shapes  half  seen  :  beyond,  a  well, 

Dark,  gleaming,  and  of  most  translucent  wave, 

Images  all  the  woven  boughs  above, 

And  each  depending  leaf,  and  every  speck 

Of  azure  sky,  darting  between  their  chasms  ; 

Nor  aught  else  in  the  liquid  mirror  laves 

Its  portraiture,  but  some  inconstant  star 

Between  one  foliaged  lattice  twinkling  fair, 

Or  painted  bird,  sleeping  beneath  the  moon 

Or  gorgeous  insect,  floating  motionless, 

Unconscious  of  the  day,  ere  yet  his  wings 

Have  spread  their  glories  to  the  gaze  of  noon. 

Hither  the  Poet  came.     His  eyes  beheld 
Their  own  wan  light  through  the  reflected  lines 
Of  his  thin  hair,  distinct  in  the  dark  depth 
Of  that  still  fountain ;  as  the  human  heart. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  457 

Gazing  in  dreams  over  the  gloomy  grave, 

Sees  its  own  treacherous  likeness  there.     He  heard 

The  motion  of  the  leaves,  the  grass  that  sprung 

Startled  and  glanced  and  trembled  even  to  feel 

An  unaccustomed  presence,  and  the  sound 

Of  the  sweet  brook  that  from  the  secret  springs 

Of  that  dark  fountain  rose.     A  Spirit  seemed 

To  stand  beside  him— clothed  in  no  bright  robes 

Of  shadowy  silver  or  enshrining  light, 

Borrowed  from  aught  the  visible  world  affords 

Of  grace,  or  majesty,  or  mystery; — 

But  undulating  woods,  and  silent  well, 

And  rippling  rivulet,  and  evening  gloom 

Now  deepening  the  dark  shades,  for  speech  assuming 

Held  commune  with  him,  as  if  he  and  it 

Were  all  that  was, — only — when  his  regard 

Was  raised  by  intense  pensiveneoS, — two  eyes, 

Two  starry  eyes,  hung  in  the  gloom  of  thought, 

And  seemed  with  their  serene  and  azure  smiles 

To  beckon  him. 

Obedient  to  the  light 
That  shone  within  his  soul,  he  went,  pursuing 
The  windings  of  the  dell. — The  rivulet 
Wanton  and  wild,  through  many  a  green  ravine 
Beneath  the  forest  flowed.     Sometimes  it  fell 
Among  the  moss,  with  hollow  harmony 
Dark  and  profound.     Now  on  the  polished  stones 
It  danced  ;   like  childhood  laughing  as  it  went : 
Then,  through  the  plain  in  tranquil  wanderings  crept, 
K effecting  every  herb  and  drooping  bud 
That  overhung  its  quietness. — "  O  stream ! 
Whose  source  is  inaccessibly  profound, 
Whither  do  thy  mysterious  waters  tend  ? 
Thou  imagest  my  life.     Thy  darksome  stillness, 
Thy  dazzling  waves,  thy  loud  and  hollow  gulfs, 
Thy  searchless  fountain,  and  invisible  course, 
Have  each  their  type  in  me  :  And  the  wide  sky, 
And  measureless  ocean  may  declate  as  soon 
What  oozy  cavern  or  what  wandering  cloud 
Contains  thy  waters,  as  the  universe 
Tell  where  these  living  thoughts  reside,  when  stretched 
Upon  thy  flowers  my  bloodless  limbs  shall  waste 
I'  the  passing  wind !" 

Beside  the  grassy  shore 
Of  the  small  stream  he  went;  he  did  impress 
On  the  green  moss  his  tremulous  step,  that  caught 
/Strong  shuddering  from  his  burning  limbs.     As  one 


458  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Roused  by  some  joyous  madness  from  the  couch 

Of  fever,  he  did  move  ;  yet,  not  like  him, 

Forgetful  of  the  grave,  where,  when  the  flame 

Of  his  frail  exultation  shall  be  spent, 

He  must  descend.     With  rapid  steps  he  went 

Beneath  the  shade  of  trees,  beside  the  flow 

Of  the  wild  babbling  rivulet  j  and  now 

The  forest's  solemn  canopies  were  changed 

For  the  uniform  and  lightsome  evening  sky. 

Grey  rocks  did  peep  from  the  spare  moss,  and  stemmed 

The  struggling  brook  :  tall  spires  of  windlestrae 

Threw  their  thin  shadows  down  the  rugged  slope 

And  nought  but  gnarled  roots  of  ancient  pines 

Branchless  and  blasted,  clenched  with  grasping  roots 

The  unwilling  soil.     A  gradual  change  was  here, 

Yet  ghastly.     For,  as  fast  years  flow  away, 

The  smooth  brow  gathers,  and  the  hair  grows  thin 

And  white  ;  and  where  irradiate  dewy  eyes 

Had  shone,  gleam  stony  orbs  :  so  from  his  steps 

Bright  flowers  departed,  and  the  beautiful  shade 

Of  the  green  groves,  with  all  their  odorous  winds 

And  musical  motions.     Calm,  he  still  pursued 

The  stream,  that  with  a  larger  volume  now 

Rolled  through  the  labyrinthine  dell ;  and  there 

Fretted  a  path  through  its  descending  curves 

With  its  wintry  speed.     On  every  side  now  rose 

Rocks,  which,  in  unimaginable  forms, 

Lifted  their  black  and  barren  pinnacles 

In  the  light  of  evening,  and  its  precipice, 

Obscuring  the  ravine,  disclosed  above, 

'Mid  toppling  stones,  black  gulfs,  and  yawning  caves, 

Whose  windings  gave  ten  thousand  various  tongues 

To  the  loud  stream.     Lo  !  where  the  pass  expands 

Its  stony  jaws,  the  abrupt  mountain  breaks, 

And  seems,  with  its  accumulated  crags, 

To  overhang  the  world:  for  wide  expand 

Beneath  the  wan  stars  and  descending  moon 

Islanded  seas,  blue  mountains,  mighty  streams, 

Dim  tracts  and  vast,  robed  in  the  lustrous  gloom 

Of  leaden-coloured  even,  and  fiery  hills 

Mingling  their  flames  with  twilight,  on  the  verge 

Of  the  remote  horizon.     The  near  scene, 

In  naked  and  severe  simplicity, 

Made  contrast  with  the  universe.     A  pine, 

Rock-rooted,  stretched  athwart  the  vacancy 

Its  swinging  boughs,  to  each  inconstant  blast 

Yielding  one  only  response,  at  each  pause, 

In  most  familiar  cadence,  with  the  howl 

The  thunder  and  the  hiss  of  homeless  streams, 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  459 

Mingling  its  solemn  song,  whilst  the  broad  river, 
Foaming  and  hurrying  o'er  its  rugged  path, 
Fell  into  that  immeasurable  void, 
Scattering  its  waters  to  the  passing  winds. 

The  dim  and  horned  moon  hung  low,  and  poured 
A  sea  of  lustre  on  the  horizon's  verge 
That  overflowed  its  mountains.     Yellow  mist 
Filled  the  unbounded  atmosphere,  and  drank 
Wan  moonlight  even  to  fulness  :  not  a  star 
Shone,  not  a  sound  was  heard ;  the  very  winds 
Danger's  grim  playmates,  on  that  precipice 
Slept,  clasped  in  his  embrace. — O  storm  of  death  ! 
Whose  sightless  speed  divides  this  sullen  night: 
And  thou,  colossal  Skeleton,  that,  still 
Guiding  its  irresistible  career 
In  thy  devastating  omnipotence, 
Art  king  of  this  frail  world,  from  the  red  field 
Of  slaughter,  from  the  reeking  hospital, 
The  patriot's  sacred  couch,  the  snowy  bed 
Of  innocence,  the  scaffold,  and  the  throne, 
A  mighty  voice  invokes  thee.     Ruin  calls 
His  brother  Death.     A  rare  and  regal  prey 
He  hath  prepared,  prowling  around  the  world; 
Glutted  with  which  thou  niay'st  repose,  and  men 
Go  to  their  graves  like  flowers  or  creeping  worms, 
Nor  ever  more  offer  at  thy  dark  shrine 
The  unheeded  tribute  of  a  broken  heart. 

When  on  the  threshold  of  the  green  recess 
The  wanderer's  footsteps  fell,  he  knew  that  death 
Was  on  him.    Yet  a  little,  ere  it  fled, 
Did  he  resign  his  high  and  holy  soul 
To  images  of  the  majestic  past, 
That  paused  within  his  passive  being  now, 
Like  winds  that  bear  sweet  music,  when  they  breathe 
Through  some  dim  latticed  chamber.     He  did  place 
His  pale  lean  hand  upon  the  rugged  trunk 
Of  the  old  pine.     Upon  an  ivied  stone 
Reclined  his  languid  head,  his  limbs  did  rest, 
Diffused  and  motionless,  on  the  smooth  brink 
Of  that  obscurest  chasm  ; — and  thus  he  lay, 
Surrendering  to  their  final  impulses 
The  hovering  powers  of  life.     Hope  and  Despair, 
The  torturers,  slept :  no  mortal  pain  or  fear 
Marred  his  repose,  the  influxes  of  sense, 
And  his  own  being  unalloyed  by  pain, 
Yet  feebler  and  more  feeble,  calmly  fed 
The  stream  of  thought,  till  he  lay  breathing  there 
At  peace,  and  faintly  smiling  : — his  last  sight 


460  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Was  the  great  moon,  which  o'er  the  western  line 

Of  the  wide  world  her  mighty  horn  suspended, 

With  whose  dun  beams  inwoven  darkuess  seemed 

To  mingle.     Now  upon  the  jagged  hills 

It  rests,  and  still  as  the  divided  frame 

Of  the  vast  meteor  sunk,  the  Poet's  blood, 

That  ever  beat  in  mystic  sympathy 

With  nature's  ebb  and  flow,  grew  feebler  still : 

And  when  two  lessening  points  of  light  alone 

Gleamed  through  the  darkness,  the  alternate  gasp 

Of  his  faint  respiration  scarce  did  stir 

The  stagnate  night: — till  the  minutest  ray 

Was  quenched,  the  pulse  yet  lingered  in  his  heart. 

It  paused — it  fluttered.     But  when  heaven  remained 

Utterly  black,  the  murky  shades  involved 

An  image,  silent,  cold,  and  motionless, 

As  their  own  voiceless  earth  and  vacant  air. 

Even  as  a  vapour  fed  with  golden  beams 

That  ministered  on  sunlight,  ere  the  west 

Eclipses  it,  was  now  that  wondrous  frame — 

No  sense,  no  motion,  no  divinity — 

A  fragile  lute,  on  whose  harmonious  strings 

The  breath  of  heaven  did  wander — a  bright  stream 

Once  fed  with  many-voiced  waves — a  dream 

Of  youth,  which  night  and  time  have  quenched  for  ever 

Still,  dark,  and  dry,  and  unremembered  now. 

Oh,  for  Medea's  wondrous  alchymy, 
Which  wheresoe'er  it  fell  made  the  earth  gleam 
With  bright  flowers,  and  the  wintry  boughs  exhale 
From  vernal  blooms  fresh  fragrance  !  Oh,  that  God, 
Profuse  of  poisons,  would  concede  the  chalice 
Which  but  one  living  man  has  drained,  who  now, 
Vessel  of  deathless  wrath,  a  slave  that  feels 
No  proud  exemption  in  the  blighting  curse 
He  bears,  over  the  world  wanders  for  ever, 
Lone  as  incarnate  death  !  Oh  !  that  the  dream 
Of  dark  magician  in  his  visioned  cave, 
Raking  the  cinders  of  a  crucible 
For  life  and  power,  even  -when  his  feeble  hand 
Shakes  in  its  last  decay,  were  the  true  law 
Of  this  so  lovely  world  !  But  thou  art  fled 
Like  some  frail  exhalation,  which  the  dawn 
Robes  in  its  golden  beams, — ah  !  thou  hast  fled ! 
The  brave,  the  gentle,  and  the  beautiful, 
The  child  of  grace  and  genius. 

Upon  those  pallid  lips 
So  sweet  even  in  their  silence,  on  those  eyes 
That  image  sleep  in  death,  upon  that  foni 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  461 

Yet  safe  from  the  worms  outrage,  let  no  tear 

Be  shed — not  even  in  thought.  Nor,  when  those  hues 

Are  gone,  and  those  divinest  lineaments, 

Worn  by  the  senseless  wind,  shall  live  alone 

In  the  frail  pauses  of  this  simple  strain, 

Let  not  high  verse,  mourning  the  memory 

Of  that  which  is  no  more,  or  paintings  woe 

Or  sculpture,  speak  in  feeble  imagery 

Their  own  cold  powers.     Art  and  eloquence, 

And  all  the  shows  o'the  world,  are  frail  and  vain 

To  weep  a  loss  that  turns  their  light  to  shade. 

It  is  a  woe  "  too  deep  for  tear's,"  when  all 

Is  reft  at  once,  when  some  surpassing  Spirit, 

Whose  light  adorned  the  world  around  it,  leaves 

Those  who  remain  behind  nor  sobs,  nor  groans, 

The  passionate  tumult  of  a  clinging  hope  ; 

But  pale  despair  and  cold  tranquility, 

Nature's  vast  frame,  the  web  of  human  things, 

Birth  and  the  grave,  that  are  not  as  they  were. 


MONT    BLANC. 

LINES    WRITTEN    IN    THE   VALE    OF   CHAMOUNI, 

The  everlasting  universe  of  things 

Flows  through  the  mind,  and  rolls  its  rapid  waves, 

Now  dark — now  glittering — now  reflecting  gloon* — 

Now  lending  splendour,  where  from  secret  springs 

The  source  of  human  thought  its  tribute  brings 

Of  waters, — with  a  sound  but  half  its  own, 

Such  as  a  feeble  brook  will  oft  assume 

1  n  the  wild  woods,  among  the  mountains  lone, 

Where  waterfalls  around  it  leap  for  ever, 

Where  woods  and  winds  contend,  and  a  vast  river 

Over  its  rocjjfc  ceaselessly  bursts  and  raves. 

Thus  thou,  Ravine  of  Arve — dark,  deep  Ravine — 

Thou  many-coloured,  many-voiced  vale, 

Over  whose  pines,  and  crags,  and  caverns,  sail 

Fast  clouds,  shadows,  and  sunbeams  ;  awful  scene, 

Where  Power  in  likeness  of  the  Arve  comes  down 

From  the  ice-gulfs  that  gird  his  secret  throne, 

Bursting  through  these  dark  mountains  like  the  flame 

Of  lightning  through  the  tempest : — thou  dost  lie, 

The  giant  brood  of  pines  around  thee  clinging, 

Children  of  elder  time,  in  whose  devotion, 

The  chainless  winds  still  come,  and  ever  came 

To  drink  their  odours,  and  their  mighty  swinging 


462  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

To  hear — an  old  and  solemn  harmony  : 

Thine  earthly  rainbows  stretched  across  the  sweep 

Of  the  ethereal  waterfall,  whose  veil 

Robes  some  unsculptured  image  ;  the  strange  sleep 

M  hich,  when  the  voices  of  the  desert  fail, 

Wraps  all  in  its  own  deep  eternity  : — 

Thy  caverns  echoing  to  the  Arve's  commotion 

A  loud,  lone  sound,  no  other  sound  can  tame  ; 

Thou  art  pervaded  with  that  ceaseless  motion, 

Thou  art  the  path  of  that  unresting  sound — 

Dizzy  Ravine  !  and  when  I  gaze  on  thee 

I  seem  as  in  a  trance,  sublime  and  strange 

To  muse  on  my  own  separate  phantasy — ■ 

My  own,  my  human  mind,  which  passively 

Now  renders  and  receives  fast  influencings, 

Holding  an  unremitting  interchange 

With  the  clear  universe  of  things  around  ; 

One  legion  of  wild  thoughts,  whose  wandering  wings 

Now  float  above  thy  darkness,  and  now  rest 

Where  that,  or  thou  art,  no  unbidden  guest, 

'n  the  still  cave  of  the  witch  Poesy, 

Seeking  among  the  shadows  that  pass  by 

Ghosts  of  all  things  that  are,  some  shade  of  thee, 

Some  phantom,  some  faint  image  ;  till  the  breast 

From  which  they  fled  recalls  them,  thou  art  there  ! 

Some  say  that  gleams  of  a  remoter  world 

Visit  the  soul  in  sleep, — that  death  is  slumber — 

And  that  it  shapes  the  busy  thoughts  outnumber 

Of  those  who  wake  and  live — I  look  on  high; 

Has  some  unknown  omnipotence  unfurled 

The  veil  of  life  and  death  1  or  do  I  lie 

In  dream,  and  does  the  mightier  world  of  sleep 

Speed  far  around  and  inaccessibly 

Its  circles  '!   For  the  very  spirit  fails, 

Driven  like  a  homeless  cloud  from  steep  to  steep 

That  vanishes  among  the  viewless  gales  ! 

Far,  far  above,  piercing  the  infinite  sky, 

Mont  Blanc  appears, — still,  snowy,  and  serene — 

Its  subject  mountains  their  unearthly  forms 

Pile  around  it,  ice  and  rock ;  broad  vales  between 

Of  frozen  floods,  unfathomable  deeps, 

Blue  as  the  overhanging  heaven,  that  spread 

And  wind  among  the  accumulated  steeps; 

A  desert  peopled  by  the  storms  alone, 

Save  when  the  eagle  brings  some  hunter's  bone, 

And  the  wolf  tracks  her  there — how  hideously 

Its  shapes  are  heaped  around !  rude,  bare,  and  high, 

Ghastly,  and  scarred,  and  riven. — Is  this  the  scene 

Where  the  old  Earthquake-demon  taught  her  young 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  463 

Ruin  ?  Were  these  their  toys  ?  or  did  a  sea 
Of  fire  envelope  once  this  silent  snow  ? 
None  can  reply — all  seems  eternal  now. 
The  wilderness  has  a  mysterious  tongue 
Which  teaches  awful  doubt,  or  faith  so  mild, 
So  solemn,  so  serene,  that  man  may  be 
But  for  such  faith  with  nature  reconciled ; 
Thou  hast  a  voice,  great  Mountain,  to  repeal 
Large  codes  of  fraud  and  woe  ;  not  understood, 
By  all,  but  which  the  wise,  and  great,  and  good, 
Interpret,  or  make  felt,  or  deeply  feel. 

The  fields,  the  lakes,  the  forests,  and  the  streams, 
Ocean,  and  all  the  living  tilings  that  dwell 
Within  the  daedal  earth  ;  lightning,  and  rain, 
Earthquake,  and  fiery  flood,  and  hurricane, 
The  torpor  of  the  year  when  feeble  dreams 
Visit  the  hidden  buds,  or  dreamless  sleep 
Holds  every  future  leaf  and  flowers  ; — the  bound 
With  which  from  that  detested  trance  they  leap  : 
The  works  and  ways  of  man,  their  death  and  birth, 
And  that  of  him,  and  all  that  his  may  be ; 
All  things  that  move  and  breathe  with  toil  and  sound 
Are  born  and  die,  revolve,  subside,  and  swell. 
Power  dwells  apart  in  its  tranquillity 
Remote,  serene  and  inaccessible : 
And  this,  the  naked  countenance  of  earth, 
On  which  I  gaze,  even  these  primaeval  mountains, 
Teach  the  adverting  mind.     The  glaciers  creep 
Like  snakes  that  watch  their  prey,  from  their  far  fountains. 
Slowly  rolling  on  ;  there,  many  a  precipice 
Frost  and  the  Sun  in  scorn  of  mortal  power 
Have  piled — dome,  pyramid,  and  pinnacle, 
A  city  of  death,  distinct  with  many  a  tower 
And  wall  impregnable  of  beaming  ice. 
Yet  not  a  city,  but  a  flood  of  ruin 
Is  there,  that  from  the  boundaries  of  the  sky 
Rolls  its  perpetual  stream ,-  vast  pines  are  strewing 
Its  destined  path,  or  in  the  mangled  soil 
Branchless  and  scattered  stand  ;  the  rocks,  drawn  down 
From  yon  remotest  waste,  have  overthrown 
The  limits  of  the  dead  and  living  world, 
Never  to  be  reclaimed.     The  dwelling-place 
Of  insects,  beasts,  and  birds,  becomes  its  spoil; 
Their  food  and  their  retreat  for  ever  gone, 
So  much  of  life  and  joy  is  lost.     The  race 
Of  man  flies  far  in  dread ;  his  work  and  dwelling 
Vanish,  like  smoke  before  the  tempest's  stream, 
And  their  place  is  not  known.     Below,  vast  caves 
40 


464  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Shine  in  the  rushing  tot  rent's  restless  gleam, 
Which  from  those  secret  chasms  in  tumult  dwelling 
Meet  in  the  Yale,  and  one  majestic  River, 
The  breath  and  blood  of  distant  lands,  for  ever 
Rolls  its  loud  waters  to  the  ocean  waves, 
Breathes  its  swift  vapours  to  the  circling  air. 

Mont  Blanc  yet  gleams  on  high :— the  power  is  there, 

The  still  and  solemn  power  of  many  sights 

And  many  sounds,  and  much  of  life  and  death. 

In  the  calm  darkness  of  the  moonless  nights, 

In  the  lone  glare  of  clay,  the  snows  descend 

Upon  that  Mountain  ;  none  beholds  them  there, 

Nor  when  the  flakes  burn  in  the  sinking  sun. 

Or  the  star-beams  dart  through  them  : — Winds  contend 

Silently  there,  and  heap  the  snow,  with  breath 

Rapid  and  strong,  but  silently !   Its  home 

The  voiceless  lightning  in  these  solitudes 

Keeps  innocently,  and  like  vapour  broods 

Over  the  snow.     The  secret  strength  of  things, 

Which  governs  thought,  and  to  the  infinite  dome 

Of  heaven  is  as  a  law,  inhabits  thee! 

And  what  were  thou,  and  earth,  and  stars,  and  sea, 

If  to  the  human  mind's  imaginings 

Silence  and  solitude  were  vacancy  ? 


GINEVRA. 

Wild,  pale,  and  wonder-stricken,  even  as  one 
Who  staggers  forth  into  the  air  and  sun 
From  the  dark  chamber  of  a  mortal  fever, 
Bewildered,  and  incapable,  and  ever 
Fancying  strange  comments  in  her  dizzy  brain 
Of  usual  shapes,  till  the  familiar  train 
Of  objects  and  of  persons,  passed  like  things 
Strange  as  a  dreamer's  mad  imaginings, 
Ginevra  from  the  nuptial  altar  went ; 
The  vows  to  which  her  lips  had  sworn  assent 
Rung  in  her  brain  still  with  a  jarring  din, 
Deafening  the  lost  intelligence  within. 

And  so  she  moved  under  the  bridal  veil, 
Which  made  the  paleness  of  her  cheek  more  pale, 
And  deepened  the  faint  crimson  of  her  mouth, 
And  darkened  her  dark  locks,  as  moonlight  doth,- 
And  of  the  gold  and  jewels  glittering  there 
She  scarce  felt  conscious, — but  the  weary  glare 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  465 

Lay  like  a  chaos  of  unwelcome  light, 
Vexing  the  sense  with  gorgeous  undelight. 
A  moonbeam  in  the  shadow  of  a  cloud 
Was  less  heavenly  fair — her  face  was  bowed, 
And  as  she  passed,  the  diamonds  in  her  hair, 
Were  mirrored  in  the  polished  marble  stair, 
Which  led  from  the  cathedral  to  the  street; 
And  even  as  she  went,  her  light  fair  feet 
Erased  these  images. 

The  bride-maidens  who  round  her  thronging  came, 
Some  with  a  sense  of  self-rebuke  and  shame, 
Envying  the  unenviable  ;  and  others 
Making  the  joy  which  should  have  been  another's 
Their  own  by  gentle  sympathy  ;  and  some 
Sighing  to  think  of  an  unhappy  home ; 
Some  few  admiring  what  can  ever  lure 
Maidens  to  leave  the  heaven  serene  and  pure 
Of  parent's  smiles  for  life's  great  cheat ;  a  thing 
Bitter  to  taste,  sweet  in  imagining. 

But  they  are  all  dispersed — and  lo !  she  stands 
Looking  in  idle  grief  on  her  white  hands, 
Alone  within  the  garden  now  her  own  ; 
And  through  the  sunny  air,  with  jangling  tone, 
The  music  of  the  merry  marriage-bells, 
Killing  the  azure  silence,  sinks  and  swells  ; — 
Absorbed,  like  one  within  a  dream  who  dreams 
That  he  is  dreaming,  until  slumber  seems 
A  mockery  of  itself — when  suddenly 
Antonio  stood  before  her,  pale  as  she. 
With  agony,  with  sorrow,  and  with  pride, 
He  lifted  his  wan  eyes  upon  the  bride, 
And  said — "  Is  this  thy  faith  ?"  and  then  as  one 
Whose  sleeping  face  is  stricken  by  the  sun 
With  light  like  a  harsh  voice,  which  bids  him  rise 
And  look  upon  his  day  of  life  with  eyes 
Which  weep  in  vain  that  they  can  dream  no  more, 
Ginevra  saw  her  lover,  and  forbore 
To  shriek  or  faint,  and  checked  the  stifling  blood 
Rushing  upon  her  heart,  and  unsubdued 
Said — "  Friend,  if  earthly  violence  or  ill, 
Suspicion,  doubt,  or  the  tyrannic  will 
Of  parents,  chance,  or  custom,  time,  or  change, 
Or  circumstance,  or  terror,  or  revenge, 
Or  wildered  looks,  or  words,  or  evil  speech, 
With  all  their  stings  and  venom,  can  impeach 
Our  love, — we  love  not: — if  the  grave,  which  hides 
The  victim  from  the  tyrant,  and  divides 


466  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

The  cheek  that  whitens  from  the  eyes  that  dart 
Imperious  inquisition  to  the  heart 
That  is  another's,  could  dissever  ours, 
We  love  not." — "  What !  do  not  the  silent  hours 
Beckon  tliee  to  Gherardi's  bridal  bed  ? 
Is  not  that  ring" — a  pledge,  he  would  have  said, 
Of  broken  vows,  but  she  with  patient  look 
The  golden  circle  from  her  finger  took, 
And  said — "  Accept  this  token  of  my  faith, 
The  pledge  of  vows  to  be  absolved  by  death  ; 
And  I  am  dead  or  shall  be  soon — my  knell 
Will  mix  its  music  with  that  merry  bell ; 
Does  it  not  sound  as  if  they  sweetly  said, 
•  We  toll  a  corpse  out  of  the  marriage  bed?' 
The  flowers  upon  my  bridal  chamber  strewn 
Will  serve  unfaded  for  my  bier — so  soon 
That  even  the  dying  violet  will  not  die 
Before  Ginevra."     The  strong  phantasy 
Had  made  her  accents  weaker  and  more  weak, 
And  quenched  the  crimson  life  upon  her  cheek, 
And  glazed  her  eyes,  and  spread  an  atmosphere 
Round  her,  which  chilled  the  burning  noon  with  fear, 
Making  her  but  an  image  of  the  thought, 
Which,  like  a  prophet  or  a  shadow,  brought  ■ 
News  of  the  terrors  of  the  coming  time. 
Like  an  accuser  branded  with  the  crime 
He  would  have  cast  on  a  beloved  friend, 
Whose  dying  eyes  reproach  not  to  the  end 
The  pale  betrayer — he  then  with  vain  repentance, 
Would  share,  he  cannot  now  avert,  the  sentence- 
Antonio  stood  and  would  have  spoken,  when 
The  compound  voice  of  women  and  of  men 
Was  heard  approaching:  he  retired,  while  she 
Was  led  amid  the  admiring  company 
Back  to  the  palace, — and  her  maidens  soon 
Changed  her  attire  for  the  afternoon, 
And  left  her  at  her  own  request  to  keep 
An  hour  of  quiet  and  rest :— like  one  asleep 
With  open  eyes  and  folded  hands  she  lay, 
Pale  in  the  light  of  the  declining  day. 

Meanwhile  the  day  sinks  fast,  the  sun  is  set^ 
And  in  the  lighted  hall  the  guests  are  met; 
The  beautiful  looked  lovelier  in  the  light 
Of  love,  and  admiration,  and  delight, 
Reflected  from  a  thousand  hearts  and  eyea 
Kindling  a  momentary  Paradise. 
This  crowd  is  safer  than  the  silent  wood, 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  467 

Where  love's  own  doubts  disturb  the  solitude  j 

On  frozen  hearts  the  fiery  rain  of  wine 

Falls,  and  the  dew  of  music  more  divine 

Tempers  the  deep  emotions  of  the  time 

To  spirits  cradled  in  a  sunny  clime : — 

How  many  meet,  who  never  yet  have  met, 

To  part  too  soon,  but  ne/er  to  forget? 

How  many  saw  the  beauty,  power,  and  wit 

Of  looks  and  words  which  ne'er  enchanted  yet ! 

But  life's  familiar  veil  was  now  withdrawn, 

As  the  world  leaps  before  an  earthquake's  dawn, 

And  unprophetic  of  the  coming  hours, 

The  matin  winds  from  the  expanded  flowers 

Scatter  their  hoarded  incense,  and  awaken 

The  earth,  until  the  dewy  sleep  is  shaken 

From  every  living  heart  which  it  possesses, 

Through  seas  and  winds,  cities  and  wildernesses, 

As  if  the  future  and  the  past  were  all 

Treasured  i'  the  instant: — so  Gherardi's  hall 

Laughed  in  the  mirth  of  its  lord's  festival, 

Till  some  one  asked — "  Where  is  the  Bride?"  And  then 

A  bride's-maid  went, — and  ere  she  came  again 

A  silence  fell  upon  the  guests — a  pause 

Of  expectation,  as  when  beauty  awes 

All  hearts  with  its  approach,  though,  unbeheld: 

Then  wonder,  and  then  fear  that  wonder  quelled  ;— 

For  whispers  passed  from  mouth  to  ear  which  drew 

The  colour  from  the  hearers  cheeks,  and  flew 

Louder  and  swifter  round  the  company  : 

And  then  Gherardi  entered  with  an  eye 

Of  ostentatious  trouble,  and  a  crowd 

Surrounded  him,  and  some  were  weeping  loud. 

They  found  Ginevra  dead  !  if  it  be  death, 
To  lie  without  motion,  or  pulse,  or  breath, 
With  waxen  cheeks,  and  limbs  cold,  stiff,  and  white, 
And  open  eyes,  whose  fixed  and  glassy  light 
Mocked  at  the  speculation  they  had  owned. 
If  it  be  death,  when  there  is  felt  around 
A  smell  of  clay,  a  pale  and  icy  glare, 
And  silence,  and  a  sense  that  lifts  the  hair 
From  the  scalp  to  the  ancles,  as  it  were 
Corruption  from  the  spirit  passing  forth, 
And  giving  all  it  shrouded  to  the  earth, 
And  leaving  as  swift  lightning  in  its  flight 
Ashes,  and  smoke,  and  darkness :  in  our  night 
Of  thought  we  know  thus  much  of  death, — no  more 
Than  the  unborn  dream  of  our  life  before 
Their  barks  are  wrecked  on  its  inhospitable  shore. 
40* 


468  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

The  marriage  feast  and  its  solemnity 

Was  turned  to  funeral  pomp — the  company, 

With  heavy  hearts  and  looks,  broke  up  ;    nor  they 

Who  loved  the  dead  went  weeping  on  their  way 

Alone— but  sorrow,  mixed  with  sad  surprise 

Loosened  the  springs  of  pity  in  all  eyes, 

On  which  that  form,  whose  fate  they  weep  in  vain, 

Will  never,  thought  they,  kindle  smiles  again. 

The  lamps,  which,  half-extinguished  in  their  haste, 

Gleamed  few  and  faint  o'er  the  abandoned  feast, 

Showed  as  it  were  within  the  vaulted  room 

A  cloud  of  soitow  hanging,  as  if  gloom 

Had  passed  out  of  men's  minds  into  the  air. 

Some  few  yet  stood  around  Gherardi  there, 

Friends  and  relations  of  the  dead,— and  he, 

A  loveless  man,  accepted  torpidly 

The  consolation  that  he  wanted  not, 

Awe  in  the  place  of  grief  within  him  wrought. 

Their  whispers  made  the  solemn  silence  seem 

More  still — some  wept,  [ 

Some  melted  into  tears  without  a  sob, 

And  some  with  hearts  that  might  be  heard  to  throb 

Leant  on  the  table,  and  at  intervals 

Shuddered  to  hear  through  the  deserted  halls 

And  corridors  the  thrilling  shrieks  which  came 

Upon  the  breeze  of  night,  that  shook  the  flame 

Of  every  torch  and  taper  as  it  swept 

From  out  the  chamber  where  the  women  kept; — 

Their  tears  fell  on  the  dear  companion  cold 

Of  pleasures  now  departed  ;  then  was  knolled 

The  bell  of  death,  and  soon  the  priests  arrived, 

And  finding  death  their  penitent  had  shrived, 

Returned  like  ravens  from  a  corpse  whereon 

A  vulture  has  just  feasted  to  the  bone. 

And  then  the  mourning  women  came. — 


THE  DIRGE. 

Old  winter  was  gone 
In  his  weakness  back  to  the  mountains  hoar, 

And  the  spring  came  down 
From  the  planet  that  hovers  upon  the  shore 
Where  the  sea  of  sunlight  encroaches 
On  the  limits  of  wintry  night ; — 
If  the  land,  and  the  air,  and  the  sea, 
Rejoice  not  when  spring  approaches, 
We  did  not  rejoice  in  thee, 
Ginevra! 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  469 

She  is  still,  she  is  cold 

On  the  bridal  couch, 
One  step  to  the  white  death  bed, 

And  one  to  the  bier, 
And  one  to  the  charnel — and  one,  Oh  where  ? 

The  dark  arrow  fled 

In  the  noon. 

Ere  the  sun  through  heaven  once  more  has  roll'd, 
The  rats  in  her  heart 
Will  have  made  their  nest, 
And  the  worms  be  alive  in  her  golden  hair, 
While  the  spirit  that  guides  the  sun 
Sits  throned  in  his  flaming  chair, 
She  shall  sleep. 


THE  SENSITIVE   PLANT. 

PART    FIRST. 


A  Sensitive  Plant  in  a  garden  grew, 
And  the  young  winds  fed  it  with  silver  dew, 
And  it  opened  its  fan-like  leaves  to  the  light, 
And  closed  them  beneath  the  kisses  of  night. 

And  the  Spring  arose  on  the  garden  fair, 
And  the  Spirit  of  Love  fell  every  where  ; 
And  each  flower  and  herb  on  Earth's  dark  breast 
Rose  from  the  dreams  of  its  wintry  rest. 

But  none  ever  trembled  and  panted  with  bliss 
In  the  garden,  the  field,  or  the  wilderness, 
Like  a  doe  in  the  noontide  with  love's  sweet  want, 
As  the  companionless  Sensitive  Plant. 

The  snow-drop,  and  then  the  violet, 
Arose  from  the  ground  with  warm  rain  wet, 
And  their  breath  was  mixed  with  fresh  odour,  sent 
From  the  turf,  like  the  voice  and  the  instrument. 

Then  the  pied  wind-flowers  and  the  tulip  tall, 
And  narcissi,  the  fairest  among  them  all, 
Who  gaze  on  their  eyes  in  the  stream's  recess, 
Till  they  die  of  their  own  dear  loveliness  ; 


470  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

And  the  Naiad-like  lily  of  the  vale, 
Whom  youth  makes  so  fair  and  passion  so  pale, 
That  the  light  of  its  tremulous  bells  is  seen 
Through  their  pavilions  of  tender  green ; 

And  the  hyacinth  purple,  and  white,  and  blue, 
Which  flung  from  its  bells  a  sweet  peal  anew 
Of  music  so  delicate,  soft,  and  intense, 
It  was  felt  like  an  odour  within  the  sense  ; 

And  the  rose  like  a  nymph  to  the  bath  addrest, 
Which  unveiled  the  depth  of  her  glowing  breast, 
Till,  fold  after  fold,  to  the  fainting  air 
The  soul  of  her  beauty  and  love  lay  bare  ; 

And  the  wand-like  lily,  which  lifted  up 

As  a  Maenad,  its  mocnlight-coloured  cup, 

Till  the  fiery  star,  which  is  its  eye, 

Gazed  through  the  clear  dew  on  the  tender  sky  ; 

And  the  jessamine  faint,  and  the  sweet  tuberose, 
The  sweetest  flower  for  scent  that  blows  ; 
And  all  rare  blossoms  from  every  clime 
Grew  in  that  garden  in  perfect  prime. 

And  on  the  stream  whose  inconstant  bosom 
Was  prankt,  under  boughs  of  embowering  blossom, 
With  golden  and  green  light,  slanting  through 
Their  heaven  of  many  a  tangled  hue, 

Broad  water-lilies  lay  tremulously, 

And  starry  river-buds  glimmered  by, 

And  around  them  the  soft  stream  did  glide  and  dance 

With  a  motion  of  sweet  sound  and  radiance. 

And  the  sinuous  paths  of  lawn  and  of  moss, 
Which  led  through  the  garden  along  and  across, 
Some  open  at  once  to  the  sun  and  the  breeze, 
Some  lost  among  bowers  of  blossoming  trees, 

Were  all  paved  with  daisies  and  delicate  bells, 
As  fair  as  the  fabulous  asphodels, 
And  flowrets  which  drooping  as  day  drooped  too, 
Fell  into  pavilions,  white,  purple,  and  blue, 
To  roof  the  glow-worm  from  the  evening  dew. 

And  from  this  undefiled  Paradise 
The  flowers  (as  an  infant's  awakening  eyes 
Smile  on  its  mother,  whose  singing  sweet 
Can  first  lull,  and  at  last  must  awaken  it,j 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  471 

W hen  heaven's  blithe  winds  had  unfolded  them, 
As  mine-lamps  enkindle  a  hidden  gem, 
Shone  smiling  to  Heaven,  and  every  one 
Shared  joy  in  the  light  of  the  gentle  sun  ; 

For  each  one  was  interpenetrated 
With  the  light  and  the  odour  its  neighbour  shed, 
Like  young  lovers  whom  youth  and  love  make  dear, 
Wrapped  and  filled  by  their  mutual  atmosphere. 

But  the  Sensitive  Plant  which  could  give  small  fruit 
Of  the  love  which  it  felt  from  the  leaf  to  the  root, 
Received  more  than  all,  it  loved  more  than  ever, 
Where  none  wanted  but  it,  could  belong  to  the  giver;— 

For  the  Sensitive  Plant  has  no  bright  flower  ; 
Radiance  and  odour  are  not  its  dower; 
It  loves,  even  like  Love,  its  deep  heart  is  full, 
It  desires  what  it  has  not,  the  beautiful! 

The  light  winds,  which  from  unsustaining  wings 
Shed  the  music  of  many  murmurings  ; 
The  beams  which  dart  from  many  a  star 
Of  the  flowers  whose  hues  they  bear  afar ; 

The  plumed  insects  swift  and  free, 
Like  golden  boats  on  a  sunny  sea, 
Laden  with  light  and  odour,  which  pass 
Over  the  gleam  of  the  living  grass  ; 

The  unseen  clouds  of  the  dew,  which  lie 
Like  fire  in  the  flowers  till  the  sun  rides  high, 
Then  wander  like  spirits  among  the  spheres, 
Each  cloud  faint  with  the  fragrance  it  bears ; 

The  quivering  vapours  of  dim  noontide, 
Which,  like  a  sea  o'er  the  warm  earth  glide, 
In  which  every  sound,  and  odour,  and  beam, 
Move,  as  reeds  in  a  single  stream ; 

Each  and  all  like  ministering  angels  were 
For  the  Sensitive  Plant  sweet  joy  to  bear, 
Whilst  the  lagging  hours  of  the  day  went  by 
Like  windless  clouds  o'er  a  tender  sky. 

And  when  evening  descended  from  heaven  above, 
And  the  earth  was  all  rest,  and  the  air  was  all  love, 
And  delight,  though  less  bright,  was  far  more  deep, 
And  the  day's  veil  fell  from  the  world  of  sleep. 


472  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

And  the  beasts,  and  the  birds,  and  the  tesects  were  drowned 

In  an  ocean  of  dreams  without  a  sound  ; 

Whose  waves  never  mark,  though  they  ever  impress 

The  light  sand  which  paves  it,  consciousness  ; 

(Only  over  head  the  sweet  nightingale 

Ever  sang  more  sweet  as  the  day  might  fail, 

And  snatches  of  its  Elysian  chaunt 

Were  mixed  with  the  dreams  of  the  Sensitive  Plant) 

The  Sensitive  Plant  was  the  earliest 
Up-gathered  into  the  bosom  of  rest ; 
A  sweet  child  weary  of  its  delight, 
The  feeblest  and  yet  the  favourite, 
Cradled  within  the  embrace  of  night. 


PART    SECOND. 

There  was  a  power  in  this  sweet  place, 
An  Eve  in  this  Eden  ;  a  ruling  grace 
Which  to  the  flowers,  did  they  waken  or  dream 
Was  as  God  is  to  the  starry  scheme. 

A  Lady,  the  wonder  of  her  kind, 
Whose  form  was  upborne  by  a  lovely  mind, 
Which,  dilating,  had  moulded  her  mein  and  motion 
Like  a  sea-flower  unfolded  beneath  the  ocean, 

Tended  the  garden  from  morn  to  even : 
And  the  meteors  of  that  sublunar  heaven, 
Like  the  lamps  of  the  air  when  night  walks  forth, 
Laughed  round  her  footsteps  up  from  the  Earth  ! 

She  had  no  companion  of  mortal  race, 
But  her  tremulous  breath  and  her  flushing  face 
Told,  whilst  the  morn  kissed  the  sleep  from  her  eyes, 
That  her  dreams  were  less  slumber  than  Paradise  : 

As  if  some  bright  Spirit  for  her  sweet  sake 

Had  deserted  heaven  while  the  stars  were  awake, 

As  if  yet  around  her  he  lingering  were, 

Though  the  veil  of  daylight  concealed  him  from  her. 

Her  step  seemed  to  pity  the  grass  it  prest: 
You  might  hear,  by  the  heaving  of  her  breast, 
That  the  coming  and  going  of  the  wind 
Brought  pleasure  there  and  left  passion  behind. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  473 

And  wherever  her  airy  footstep  trod, 
Her  trailing:  hair  from  the  grassy  sod 
Erased  its  light  vestige,  with  shadowy  sweep, 
Like  a  sunny  storm  o'er  the  dark  green  deep. 

T  doubt  not  the  flowers  of  that  garden  sweet, 
Rejoiced  in  the  sound  of  her  gentle  feet; 
I  doubt  not  they  felt  the  spirit  that  came 
From  her  glowing  fingers  through  all  their  frame. 

She  sprinkled  bright  water  from  the  stream 
On  those  that  were  faint  with  the  sunny  beam ; 
And  out  of  the  cups  of  the  heavy  flowers 
She  emptied  the  rain  of  the  thunder  showers. 

She  lifted  their  heads  with  her  tender  hands, 
And  sustained  them  with  rods  and  ozier  bands; 
If  the  flowers  had  been  her  own  infants,  she 
Could  never  have  nursed  them  more  tenderly. 

And  all  killing  insects  and  gnawing  worms, 
And  tilings  of  obscene  and  unlovely  forms, 
She  bore  in  a  basket  of  Indian  woof, 
Into  the  rough  woods  far  aloof, 

In  a  basket,  of  grasses  and  wild  flowers  full, 
The  freshest  her  gentle  hands  could  pull 
For  the  poor  banished  insects,  whose  intent, 
Although  they  did  ill,  was  innocent. 

But  the  bee  and  the  beam-like  ephemeris, 
Whose  path  is  the  lightning's,  and  soft  moths  that  kiss 
The  sweet  lips  of  the  flowers,  and  harm  not,  did  she 
Make  her  attendant  angels  be. 

And  many  an  antenatal  tomb, 
Where  butterflies  dream  of  the  life  to  come, 
She  left  clinging  round  the  smooth  and  dark 
Edge  of  the  odorous  cedar  bark. 

This  fairest  creature  from  earliest  spring 
Thus  moved  through  the  garden,  ministering 
All  the  sweet  season  of  summer  tide, 
And  ere  the  fi«-«t  leaf  looked  brown — she  died  ! 

PART    THIRD. 

Three  days  the  flowers  of  the  garden  fair 
Like  stars,  when  the  moon  is  awakened,  were, 
Or  the  waves  of  Bai.p,  ere  luminous 
She  floats  up  through  the  smoke  of  Vesuvius. 


474  MISCELLANEOUS  POF.MS. 

And  on  the  fourth,  the  Sensitive  Plant 
Felt  the  sound  of  the  funeral  chaunt, 
And  the  step'i  of  the  bearers,  heavy  and  slow, 
And  the  sobs  of  the  mourners  deep  and  low; 

The  weary  sound  and  the  heavy  breath, 
And  the  silent  motions  of  passing  death, 
And  the  smell,  cold,  oppressive,  and  dank, 
Sent  through  the  pores  of  the  coffin  plank  ; 

The  dark  grass,  and  the  flowers  among  the  grass, 
Were  bright  with  tears  as  the  crowd  did  pass  ; 
From  their  sighs  the  wind  caught  a  mournful  tone, 
And  sate  in  the  pines,  and  gave  groan  for  groan. 

The  garden,  once  fair,  became  cold  and  foul, 
Like  the  corpse  of  her  who  had  been  its  soul  : 
Which  at  first  was  lovely,  as  if  in  sleep, 
Then  slowly  changed,  till  it  grew  a  heap 
To  make  men  tremble  who  never  weep. 

Swift  summer  into  the  autumn  flowed, 
And  frost  in  the  mist  of  the  morning  rode, 
Though  the  noonday  sun  looked  clear  and  bright, 
Mocking  the  spoil  of  the  secret  night. 

The  rose-leaves,  like  flakes  of  crimson  snow, 
Paved  the  turf  and  the  moss  below, 
The  lilies  were  drooping,  and  white,  and  wan, 
Like  the  head  and  the  skin  of  a  dying  man. 

And  Indian  plants,  of  scents  and  hue 
The  sweetest  that  ever  were  fed  on  dew 
Leaf  after  leaf,  day  by  day, 
Were  massed  into  the  common  clay. 

And  the  leaves,  brown,  yellow,  and  grey,  and  red 
And  white  with  the  whiteness  of  what  is  dead 
Like  troops  of  ghosts  on  the  dry  wind  past: 
Their  whistling  noise  made  the  birds  aghast. 

And  the  gusty  winds  waked  the  winged  seeds 
Out  of  their  birthplace  of  ugly  weeds, 
Till  they  clung  round  many  a  sweet  flower's  stem 
Which  rotted  into  the  earth  with  them. 

The  water-blooms  under  the  rivulet, 
Fell  from  the  stalks  on  which  they  were  set: 
And  the  eddies  drove  them  here  and  there, 
As  the  winds  did  those  of  the  upper  air. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  475 

Then  the  rain  came  down,  and  the  broken  stalks 
Were  bent  and  tangled  across  the  walks  ; 
And  the  leafless  net-work  of  parasite  bowers 
Massed  into  ruin,    and  all  sweet  flowers. 

Between  the  time  of  the  wind  and  the  snow, 

All  loathliest  weeds  began  to  grow, 

Whose  coarse  leaves  were  splashed  with  many  a  speck 

Like  the  water-snake's  belly  and  the  toad's  back. 

And  thistles,  and  nettles,  and  darnels  rank, 
And  the  dock,  and  henbane,  and  hemlock  dank, 
Stretched  out  its  long  and  hollow  shank, 
And  stifled  the  air  till  the  dead  wind  stank. 

And  plants,  at  whose  names  the  verse  feels  loath, 
Filled  the  place  with  a  monstrous  undergrowth, 
Prickly,  and  pulpous,  and  blistering,  and  blue, 
Livid,  and  starred  with  a  lurid  dew. 

And  agarics  and  fungi,  with  mildew  and  mould, 
Started  like  mist  from  the  wet  ground  cold  ; 
Pale,  fleshy,  as  if  the  decaying  dead 
With  a  spirit  of  growth  had  been  animated ! 

Their  moss  rotted  off  them,  flake  by  flake, 
Till  the  thick  stalk  stuck  like  a  murderer's  stake, 
Where  rags  of  loose  flesh  yet  tremble  on  high, 
Infecting  the  winds  that  wander  by. 

Spawn,  weeds,  and  filth,  a  leprous  scum, 

Made  the  running  rivulet  thick  and  dumb, 

And  at  its  outlet  flags  huge  as  stakes 

Dammed  it  up  with  roots  knotted  like  water-snakea. 

And  hour  by  hour,  when  the  air  was  still, 
The  vapours  arose  which  have  strength  to  kill 
At  morn  they  were  seen,  at  noon  they  were  felt, 
At  night  they  were  darkness  no  star  could  melt. 

And  unctuous  meteors  from  spray  to  spray 
Crept  and  flitted  in  broad  noon-day 
Unseen ;  every  branch  on  which  they  alit 
By  a  venomous  blight  was  burned  and  bit. 

The  Sensitive  Plant  like  one  forbid 
Wept,  and  the  tears  within  each  lid 

Of  its  folded  leaves  which  together  grew,  V 

Were  changed  to  a  blight  of  frozen  glue. 
41 


476  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

For  the  leaves  soon  fell,  and  the  branches  soon 
By  the  heavy  axe  of  the  hlast  were  hewn : 
The  sap  shrank  to  the  root,  through  every  pore, 
As  blood  to  a  heart  that  will  beat  no  more. 

For  Winter  came  ;  the  wind  was  his  whip : 
One  choppy  finger  was  on  his  lip: 
He  had  torn  the  cataracts  from  the  hills, 
And  they  clanked  at  his  girdle  like  manacles ; 

His  breath  was  a  chain  which  without  a  sound 
The  earth,  and  the  air,  and  the  water  bound : 
He  came,  fiercely  driven,  in  his  chariot-throne 
By  the  tenfold  blasts  of  the  arctic  zone. 

Then  the  weeds  which  were  forms  of  living  death 
Fled  from  the  frost  to  the  earth  beneath : 
Their  decay  and  sudden  flight  from  the  frost 
Was  but  like  the  vanishing  of  a  ghost! 

And  under  the  roots  of  the  Sensitive  Plant 
The  moles  and  the  dormice  died  for  want: 
The  birds  dropped  stiff  from  the  frozen  air, 
And  were  caught  in  the  branches  naked  and  bare. 

First  there  came  down  a  thawing  rain, 
And  its  dull  drops  froze  on  the  boughs  again, 
Then  there  steamed  up  a  freezing  dew, 
Which  to  the  drops  of  the  thaw-rain  grew ; 

And  a  northern  whirlwind,  wandering  about 
Like  a  wolf  that  had  smelt  a  dead  child  out, 
Shook  the  boughs  thus  laden,  and  heavy  and  stiff, 
And  snapped  them  off  with  his  rigid  griff. 

When  winter  had  gone  and  spring  came  back, 

The  Sensitive  Plant  was  a  leafless  wreck ; 

But  the  mandrakes,  and  toadstools,  and  docks,  and  darnels, 

Rose  like  the  dead  from  their  ruined  charnels. 


PETER  BELL  THE  THIRD. 


MICHING  MALLECHO,  ESQ. 


Is  it  a  party  in  a  parlour, 
Crammed  just  as  they  on  earth  were  crammed, 
Some  sipping  punch — some  sipping  tea; 
But,  as  you  by  their  faces  see, 

All  6ilent,  and  all damned ! 

Peter  Bell,  by  W.  "Wobdswobth. 


Ophelia. What  means  this,  my  lord? 

Hamlet. Marry,  this  is  Miching  Mallecho ;  it  means  mischief 

Shaksfeabb. 


CONTENTS. 

♦ 


Prologue. 

DliATK. 

The  Devil. 


Hell. 

Sin. 

Gbace. 


Damnation. 
Double  Damnation. 


PROLOGUE. 


Peter  Bells,  one,  two  and  three, 

O'er  the  wide  world  wandering  be. — 

First,  the  antenatal  Peter, 

Wrapt  in  weeds  of  the  same  metre, 

The  so  long  predestined  raiment 

Clothed,  in  which  to  walk  his  way  meant 

The  second  Peter ;  whose  ambition 

Is  to  link  the  proposition, 

As  the  mean  of  two  extremes — 


478  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

(This  was  learnt  from  Aldric's  themes) 

Shielding  from  the  guilt  of  schism 

The  orthodoxal  syllogism ; 

The  First  Peter — he  who  was 

Like  the  shadow  in  the  glass 

Of  the  second,  yet  unripe, 

His  substantial  antitype. — 

Then  came  Peter  Bell  the  Second, 

Who  henceforward  must  be  reckoned 

The  body  of  a  double  soul, 

And  that  portion  of  the  whole 

Without  which  the  rest  would  seem 

Ends  of  a  disjointed  dream. — 

And  the  Third  is  he  who  has 

O'er  the  grave  been  forced  to  pass 

To  the  other  side,  which  is, — 

Go  and  try  else, — just  like  this. 

Peter  Bell,  the  first  was  Peter 
Smugger,  milder,  softer,  neater, 
Like  the  soul  before  it  is 
Born  from  that  world  into  this. 
The  next  Peter  Bell  was  he, 
Predevote,  like  you  and  me, 
To  good  or  evil  as  may  come  ; 
His  was  the  severer  doom, — 
For  he  was  an  evil  Cotter, 
And  a  polygamic  Potter. 
And  the  last  is  Peter  Bell, 
Damned  since  our  first  parents  fell, 
Damned  eternally  to  Hell — 
Surely  he  deserves  it  well ! 


PART  THE  FIRST. 

Seatfj. 

And  Peter  Bell,  when  he  had  been 
With  fresh-imported  hell-fire  warmed, 

Grew  serious — from  his  dress  and  mien 

'Twas  very  plainly  to  be  seen 
Peter  was  quite  reformed. 

His  eyes  turned  up,  his  mouth  turned  down  i 
His  accent  caught  a  nasal  twang ; 

He  oiled  his  hair,  there  might  be  heard 

The  grace  of  God  in  every  word 
Which  Peter  said  or  sang. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  479 

But  Peter  now  grew  old.  and  had 

An  ill  no  doctor  could  unravel ; 
His  torments  almost  drove  him  mad ; — 
Some  said  it  was  a  fever  bad — 

Some  swore  it  was  the  gravel. 

His  holy  friends  then  came  about, 

And  with  long  preaching  and  persuasion 

Convinced  the  patient  that,  without 

The  smallest  shadow  of  a  doubt, 
He  was  predestined  to  damnation. 

They  said — "  Thy  name  is  Peter  Bell ; 

Thy  skin  is  of  a  brimstone  hue ; 
Alive  or  dead — aye,  sick  or  well — 
The  one  God  made  to  rhyme  with  hell ; 

The  other,  I  think,  rhymes  with  you." 

Then  Peter  set  up  such  a  yell ! — 

The  nurse,  who  with  some  water  gruel 

Was  climbing  up  the  stairs,  as  well 

As  her  old  legs  could  climb  them — fell, 
And  broke  them  both — the  fall  was  cruel. 

The  Parson  from  the  casement  leapt 

Into  the  lake  of  Windermere — 
And  many  an  eel — though  no  adept 
In  God's  right  reason  for  it — kept 

Gnawing  his  kidneys  half  a  year. 

And  all  the  rest  rushed  through  the  door, 

And  tumbled  over  one  another, 
And  broke  their  skulls. — Upon  the  floor 
Meanwhile  sat  Peter  Bell,  and  swore, 

And  cursed  his  father  and  his  mother; 


And  raved  of  God,  and  sin,  and  death, 

Blaspheming  like  an  infidel ; 
And  said,  that  with  his  clenched  teeth, 
He'd  seize  the  earth  from  underneath, 

And  drag  it  with  him  down  to  hell. 

As  he  was  speaking  came  a  spasm, 

And  wrenched  his  gnashing  teeth  asunder 
Like  one  who  sees  a  strange  phantasm 
He  lay, — there  was  a  silent  chasm 
Between  his  upper  jaw  and  under. 
41* 


480  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

And  yellow  death  lay  on  his  face  ; 

And  a  fixed  smile  that  was  not  human 
Told,  as  I  understand  the  case, 
That  he  was  gone  to  the  wrong  place  : — 

I  heard  all  this  from  the  old  woman. 

Then  there  came  down  from  Langdale  Pike 

A  cloud,  with  lightning,  wind  and  hail ; 
It  swept  over  the  mountains  like 
An  ocean, — and  I  heard  it  strike 

The  woods  and  crags  of  Grasmere  vale. 

And  I  saw  the  black  storm  come 
Nearer,  minute  after  minute  ; 

Its  thunder  made  the  cataracts  dumb  ; 

With  hiss,  and  clash,  and  hollow  hum 
It  neared  as  if  the  Devil  was  in  it. 

The  Devil  ivas  in  it : — he  had  bought 

Peter  for  half-a-crown  ;  and  when 
The  storm  which  bore  him  vanished,  nought 
That  in  the  house  that  storm  had  caught 
Was  ever  seen  again. 

The  gaping  neighbours  came  next  day — 

They  found  all  vanished  from  the  shore: 
The  Bible,  whence  he  used  to  pray, 
Half  scorched  under  a  hen-coop  lay  ; 
Smashed  glass — and  nothing  more  ! 


PART  THE  SECOND. 

The  Devil,  I  safely  can  aver, 

Has  neither  hoof,  nor  tail,  nor  sting  ; 

Nor  is  he,  as  some  sages  swear, 

A  spirit,  neither  here  nor  there, 
In  nothing — yet  in  everything. 

He  is — what  we  are  ;  for  sometimes 

The  Devil  is  a  gentleman  ; 
At  others  a  bard  bartering  rhymes 
For  sack ;  a  statesman  spinning  crimes ; 

A  swindler,  living  as  he  can  ; 

A  thief,  who  cometh  in  the  night, 

With  whole  boots  and  net  pantaloons, 
Like  some  one  whom  it  were  not  right 
To  mention  ; — or  the  luckless  wight, 
From  whom  he  steals  nine  silver  spoons. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  481 

l^ut  in  this  case  he  did  appear 

Like  a  slop-merchant  from  Wapping, 

And  with  smug  face,  and  eye  severe, 

On  every  side  did  perk  and  peer 
Till  he  saw  Peter  dead  or  napping. 

He  had  on  an  upper  Benjamin 

(For  he  was  of  the  driving  schism) 
In  the  which  he  wrapt  his  skin 
From  the  storm  he  travelled  in, 

For  fear  of  rheumatism. 

He  called  the  ghost  out  of  the  corse  j— 

It.  was  exceedingly  like  Peter, — 
Only  its  voice  was  hollow  and  hoarse — 
It  had  a  queerish  look  of  course — 

Its  dress  too  was  a  little  neater. 

The  Devil  knew  not  his  name  and  lot; 

Peter  knew  not  that  he  was  Bell : 
Each  had  an  upper  stream  of  thought, 
Which  made  all  seem  as  it  was  not ; 

Fitting  itself  to  all  things  well. 

Peter  thought  he  had  parents  dear, 

Brothers,  sisters,  cousins,  cronies, 
In  the  fens  of  Lincolnshire  ; 
He  perhaps  had  found  them  there 

Had  he  gone  and  boldly  shown  his 

Solemn  phiz  in  his  own  village  ; 

Where  he  thought  oft  when  a  boy 
He'd  clomb  the  orchard  walls  to  pillage 
The  produce  of  his  neighbour's  tillage, 

With  marvellous  pride  and  joy. 

And  the  Devil  thought  he  had, 

'Mid  the  misery  and  confusion 
Of  an  unjust  war,  just  made 
A  fortune  by  the  gainful  trade 
Of  giving  soldiers  rations  bad — 

The  world  is  full  of  strange  delusion. 

That  he  had  a  mansion  planned 

In  a  square  like  Grosvenor-square, 
That  he  was  aping  fashion,  and 
That  he  now  came  to  Westmorland 

To  see  what  was  romantic  there. 


482  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

And  all  this,  though  quite  ideal, — 

Ready  at  a  breath  to  vanish, — 
Was  a  state  not  more  unreal 
Than  the  peace  he  could  not  feel, 
Or  the  care  he  could  not  banish. 

After  a  little  conversation, 

The  Devil  told  Peter,  if  he  chose, 

He'd  bring  him  to  the  world  of  fashion 

By  giving  him  a  situation 

In  his  own  service — and  new  clothes. 

And  Peter  bowed,  quite  pleased  and  proud, 

And  after  waiting  some  few  days 
For  a  new  livery — dirty  yellow 
Turned  up  with  black — the  wretched  fellow 
Was  bowled  to  Hell  in  the  Devil's  chaise. 

PART  THE  THIRD. 

Hell  is  a  city  much  like  London— 

A  populous  and  a  smoky  city ; 
There  are  all  sorts  of  people  undone, 
And  there  is  little  or  no  fun  done  ; 

Small  justice  shown,  and  still  less  pity. 

There  is  a  Castles,  and  a  Canning, 

A  Cobbett,  and  a  Castlereagh ; 

All  sorts  of  caitiff  corpses  planning, 

All  sorts  of  cozening  for  trepanning 

Corpses  less  corrupt  than  they. 

There  is  a  *  *  *  ,  who  has  lost 

His  wits,  or  sold  them,  none  knows  which; 
He  walks  about  a  double  ghosfr, 
And  though  as  thin  as  Fraud  almost — 

Ever  grows  more  grim  and  rich. 

There  is  a  Chancery  Court ;  a  King ; 

A  manufacturing  mob  ;  a  set 
Of  thieves  who  by  themselves  are  sent 
Similar  thieves  to  represent ; 

An  army ;  and  a  public  debt. 

Which  last  is  a  scheme  of  paper  money, 

And  means — being  interpreted — 
Bees,  "  keep  your  wax — give  us  the  honey, 
And  we  will  plant,  while  skies  are  sunny, 
Flowers,  which  in  winter  serve  instead." 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  483 

There  is  great  talk  of  revolution — 
And  a  great  chance  of  despotism — 

German  soldiers — camps — confusion — 

Tumults — lotteries — rage— delusion- 
Gin — suicide — and  methodism. 

Taxes  too,  on  wine  and  bread, 

And  meat,  and  beer,  and  tea,  and  cheese, 
From  which  those  patriots  pure  are  fed, 
Who  gorge  before  they  reel  to  bed 

The  tenfold  essence  of  all  these. 

There  are  mincing  women,  mewing, 

(Like  cats,  who  amant  misefe,) 
Of  their  own  virtue,  and  pursuing 
Their  gentler  sisters  to  that  ruin, 
Without  which — what  were  chastity 

Lawyers — judges — old  hobnobbers 

Are  there — bailiffs — chancellors — 
Bishops — great  and  little  robbers — 
Rhymesters — pamphleteers — stock-jobbers — 

Men  of  glory  in  the  wars — 

Things  whose  trade  is,  over  ladies 

To  lean,  and  flirt,  and  stare,  and  simper, 
Till  all  that  is  divine  in  woman 
Grows  cruel,  courteous,  smooth,  inhuman, 
Crucified  'twixt  a  smile  and  whimper. 

Thrusting,  toiling,  wailing,  moiling, 

Frowning,  preaching — such  a  riot ! 
Each  with  never-ceasing  labour, 
Whilst  he  thinks  he  cheats  his  neighbour, 

Cheating  his  own  heart  of  quiet. 

And  all  these  meet  at  levees; — 

Dinners  convivial  and  political; — 
Suppers  of  epic  poets  ; — teas, 
Where  small  talk  dies  in  agonies  ; — 

Breakfasts  professional  and  critical  j 

Lunches  and  snacks  so  aldermanic 

That  one  would  furnish  forth  ten  dinners, 

Where  reigns  a  Cretan -tongued  panic, 

Lest  news  Russ,  Dutch,  or  Alemannic 

Should  make  some  losers,  and  some  winner* 


484  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

At  conversazioni — balls — 

Conventicles — and  drawing-rooms — 
Courts  of  law — committees — calls 
Of  a  morning— clubs — book-stalls — 
Churches — masquerades — and  tombs. 

And  this  is  Hell— and  in  this  smother 
All  are  damnable  and  damned; 

Each  one  damning,  damns  the  other ; 

They  are  damned  by  one  another, 
By  none  other  are  they  damned. 

'Tis  a  lie  to  say,  "  God  damns !" 

Where  was  Heaven's  Attorney  General 

When  they  first  gave  out  such  flams  ? 

Let  there  be  an  end  of  shams, 

They  are  mines  of  poisonous  mineral. 

Statesmen  damn  themselves  to  be 

Cursed ;  and  lawyers  damn  their  souls 

To  the  auction  of  a  fee  ; 

Churchmen  damn  themselves  to  see 
God's  sweet  love  in  burning  coals. 

The  rich  are  damned,  beyond  all  cure, 
To  taunt,  and  starve,  and  trample  on 
The  weak  and  wretched  ;  and  the  poor 
Damn  their  broken  hearts  to  endure 
Stripe  on  stripe,  with  groan  on  groan. 

Sometimes  the  poor  are  damned  indeed 

To  take, — not  means  for  being  blest, — 
But  Cobbett's  snuff,  revenge  ;  that  weed 
From  which  the  worms  that  it  doth  feed 
Squeeze  less  than  they  before  possessed. 

And  some  few,  like  we  know  who. 

Damned— but  God  alone  knows  why — 
To  believe  their  minds  are  given 
To  make  this  ugly  Hell  a  Heaven ; 
In  which  faith  they  live  and  die. 

Thus,  as  in  a  town,  plague-stricken, 

Each  man  be  he  sound  or  no 
Must  indifferently  sicken ; 
As  when  day  begins  to  thicken, 

None  knows  a  pigeon  from  a  crow,— 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  48« 

So  good  and  bad,  sane  and  mad, 

The  oppressor  and  the  oppressed  ; 
Those  who  weep  to  see  what  others 
Smile  to  inflict  upon  th*ir  brothers  ; 

Lovers,  haters,  worst  and  best ; 

All  are  damned — they  breathe  an  air, 

Thick,  infected,  joy-dispelling : 
Each  pursues  what  seems  most  fair, 
Mining  like  moles,  through  mind,  and  there 
Scoop  palace-caverns  vast,  where  Care 

In  throned  state  is  ever  dwelling. 


PART  THE  FOURTH. 

Lo,  Peter  in  Hell's  Grosvenor-Square, 
A  footman  in  the  devil's  service  ! 

And  the  misjudging  world  would  swear 

That  every  man  in  service  there 
To  virtue  would  prefer  vice. 

But  Peter,  though  now  damned,  was  not 

What  Peter  was  before  damnation. 
Men  oftentimes  prepare  a  lot 
Which  ere  it  finds  them,  is  not  what 
Suits  with  their  genuine  station. 

All  things  that  Peter  saw  and  felt 

Had  a  peculiar  aspect  to  him ; 
And  when  they  came  within  the  belt 
Of  his  own  nature,  seemed  to  melt, 

Like  cloud  to  cloud  into  him. 

And  so  the  outward  world  uniting 

To  that  within  him,  he  became 
Considerably  uninviting 
To  those,  who  meditation  slighting, 

Were  moulded  in  a  different  frame. 

And  he  scorned  them,  and  they  scorned  him  ; 

And  he  scorned  all  they  did  ;  and  they 
Did  all  that  men  of  their  own  trim 
Are  wont  to  do  to  please  their  whim, 

Drinking,  lying,  swearing,  play. 


486  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Such  were  his  fellow-servants ;  thus 

His  virtue,  like  our  own,  was  built 
Too  much  on  that  indignant  fuss 
Hypocrite  Pride  stirs  up  in  us 
To  bully  out  another's  guilt. 

He  had  a  mind  which  was  somehow 
At  once  circumference  and  centre 

Of  all  he  might  or  feel  or  know; 

Nothing  went  ever  out,  although 
Something  did  ever  enter. 

He  had  as  much  imagination 
As  a  pint-pot ; — he  never  could 

Fancy  another  situation, 

From  which  to  dart  his  contemplation, 
Than  that  wherein  he  stood. 


Yet  his  was  individual  mind, 

And  new  created  all  he  saw 
In  a  new  manner,  and  refined 
Those  new  creations,  and  combined 

Them,  by  a  master-spirit's  law. 

Thus — though  unimaginative — 

An  apprehension  clear,  intense, 
Of  his  mind's  work,  had  made  alive 
The  things  it  wrought  on ;  I  believe 
Wakening  a  sort  of  thought  in  sense. 

But  from  the  first  'twas  Peter's  drift 

To  be  a  kind  of  mortal  eunuch, 
He  touched  the  hem  of  nature's  shift, 
Felt  faint — and  never  dared  uplift 
The  closest,  all-concealing  tunic. 

She  laughed  the  while,  with  an  arch  smile, 

And  kissed  him  with  a  sister's  kiss, 
And  said — "  My  best  Diogenes, 
I  love  you  well — but,  if  you  please, 
Tempt  not  again  my  deepest  bliss. 

"  'Tis  you  are  cold — for  I,  not  coy, 

Yield  love  for  love,  frank,  warm  and  true  j 
And  Burns,  a  Scottish  peasant  boy — 
His  errors  prove  it — knew  my  joy 
More,  learned  friend,  than  you. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  48T 

"  Bocca  bacciata  non  perde  ventura 

Anzi  rinnuova  come  fa  la  lima: — 
So  thought  Boccaccio,  whose  sweet  words  might  cure  a 
Male  prude,  like  you,  from  what  you  now  endure,  a 

Low-tide  in  soul,  like  a  stagnant  laguna." 

Then  Peter  rubbed  his  eyes  severe, 
And  smoothed  his  spacious  forehead  down, 

With  his  broad  palm;— 'twixt  love  and  fear, 

He  looked,  as  he  no  doubt  felt,  queer, 
And  in  his  dream  sate  down. 

The  Devil,  was  no  uncommon  creature; 

A  leaden-witted  thief— just  huddled 
Out  of  the  dross  and  scum  of  nature  ; 
A  toad-like  lump  of  limb  and  feature, 

With  mind,  and  heart,  and  fancy  muddled. 

He  was  that  heavy,  dull,  cold  thing, 

The  spirit  of  evil  well  may  be:  ° 
A  drone  too  base  to  have  a  sting; 
Who  gluts,  and  grimes  his  lazy  wing, 

And  calls  lust,  luxury. 

Now  he  was  quite  the  kind  of  wight 

Round  whom  collect,  at  a  fixed  sera, 
Venison,  turtle,  hock,  and  claret, — 

Good  cheer — and  those  who  come  to  share  it 

And  best  East  Indian  madeira ! 

It  was  his  fancy  to  invite 

Men  of  science,  wit,  and  learning, 
Who  came  to  lend  each  other  light ; 
He  proudly  thought  that  his  gold's  might 

Had  set  those  spirits  burning. 

And  men  of  learning,  science,  wit 

Considered  him  as  you  and  I 
Think  of  some  rotten  tree,  and  sit 
Lounging  and  dining  under  it, 

Exposed  to  the  wide  sky. 

And  all  the  while,  with  loose  fat  smile, 

The  willing  wretch  sat  winking  there, 
Believing  'twas  his  power  that  made 
That  jovial  scene— and  that  all  paid 

Homage  to  his  unnoticed  chair. 
42 


488  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Though  to  be  sure  this  place  was  Hell ; 

He  was  the  Devil — and  all  they — 
What  though  the  claret  circled  well, 
And  wit,  like  ocean,  rose  and  fell  ? — 

Were  damned  eternally. 


PART  THE  FIFTH. 

©race. 

Among  the  guests  who  often  staid 

Till  the  Devil's  petits-soupers, 
A  man  there  came,  fair  as  a  maid, 
And  Peter  noted  what  he  said, 

Standing  behind  his  master's  chair. 

He  was  a  mighty  poet — and 

A  subtle-souled  psychologist; 
All  things  he  seemed  to  understand, 
Of  old  or  new — of  sea  or  land — 

But  his  own  mind — which  was  a  mist. 

This  was  a  man  who  might  have  turned 
Hell  into  Heaven — and  so  in  gladness 

A  Heaven  unto  himself  have  earned  ; 

But  he  in  shadows  undiscerned 
Trusted, — and  damned  himself  to  madness. 


He  spoke  of  poetry,  and  how 

"  Divine  it  was,  a  light,  a  love, 
A  spirit  which  like  wind  doth  blow 
As  it  listeth,  to  and  fro  ; 

A  dew  rained  down  from  God  above. 

"  A  power  which  comes.and  goes  like  dream, 

And  which  none  can  ever  trace — 
Heaven's  light  on  earth— Truth's  brightest  beam.' 
And  when  he  ceased  there  lay  the  gleam 

Of  those  words  upon  his  face. 

Now  Peter,  when  he  heard  such  talk, 

Would,  heedless  of  a  broken  pate, 
Stand  like  a  man  asleep,  or  baulk 
Some  wishing  guest  of  knife  or  fork, 

Or  drop  and  break  his  master's  plate. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

At  night  he  oft  would  start  and  wake 

Like  a  lover,  and  began 
In  a  wild  measure  songs  to  make 
On  moor,  and  glen,  and  rocky  lake, 

And  on  the  heart  of  man. 

And  on  the  universal  sky — 

And  the  wide  earth's  bosom  green,— 
And  the  sweet,  strange  mystery 
Of  what  beyond  these  things  may  lie, 

And  yet  remain  unseen. 

For  in  his  thought  he  visited 

The  spots  in  which,  ere  dead  and  damned, 
He  his  wayward  life  had  led, 
Yet  knew  not  whence  the  thoughts  were  fed, 

Which  thus  his  fancy  crammed. 

And  these  obscure  remembrances 

Stirred  such  harmony  in  Peter, 
That  whensoever  he  should  please, 
He  could  speak  of  rocks  and  trees 

In  poetic  metre. 

For  though  it  was  without  a  sense 
Of  memory,  yet  he  remembered  well 

Many  a  ditch  and  quick-set  fence  ; 

Of  lakes  he  had  intelligence, 

He  knew  something  of  heath,  and  fell. 

He  had  also  dim  recollections 

Of  pedlars  tramping  on  their  rounds  ; 
Milk-pans  and  pails;    and  odd  collections 
Of  saws,  and  proverbs;  and  reflections 
Old  parsons  make  in  burying-grounds. 

But  Peter's  verse  was  clear,  and  came 
Announcing  from  the  frozen  hearth 

Of  a  cold  age,  that  none  might  tame 

The  soul  of  that  diviner  flame 
It  augured  to  the  Earth. 

Like  gentle  rains,  on  the  dry  plains, 

Making  that  green  which  late  was  grey, 
Or  like  the  sudden  moon,  that  stains 
Some  gloomy  chamber's  window  panes 


ome  gloomy  chamber's  windi 
With  a  broad  light  like  day 


490  MISCEILANEOUS  POEMS. 

For  language  was  in  Peter's  hand, 

Like  clay,  while  he  was  yet  a  potter ; 
And  he  made  songs  for  all  the  land, 
Sweet  both  to  feel  and  understand, 
As  pipkins  late  to  mountain  Cotter. 

And  Mr. ,  the  bookseller, 

Gave  twenty  pounds  for  some; — then  scorning 
A  footman's  yellow  coat  to  wear, 
Peter,  too  proud  of  heart,  I  fear, 

Instantly  gave  the  Devil  warning. 

Whereat  the  Devil  took  offence, 
And  swore  in  his  soul  a  great  oath    then, 

"That  for  his  damned  impertinence, 

He'd  bring  him  to  a  proper  sense 
Of  what  was  due  to  gentlemen  !" — 


PART  THE  SIXTH. 

damnation. 

"  O  thvt  mine  enemy  had  written 

A  book!" — cried  Job: — a  feaiful  curse; 
Tf  to  the  Arab,  as  the  Briton, 
'Twas  galling  to  be  critic-bitten  : — 
The  Devil  to  Peter  wished  no  wor  se. 

When  Peter's  next  new  book  found  vent, 
The  Devil  to  all  the  first  Reviews 

A  copy  of  it  slily  sent, 

With  five-pound  note  as  compliment, 
And  this  short  notice — "  Pray  abuse." 

Then  seriatim,  month  and  quarter, 

Appeared  such  mad  tirades. — One  said- 
"  Peter  seduced  Mrs.  Foy's  daughter, 
Then  drowned  the  mother  in  Ullswater, 
The  last  thing  as  he  went  to  bed." 

Another — "  Let  him  shave  his  head  ! 

Where's  Dr.  Willis  ?— Or  is  he  joking? 
What  does  the  rascal  mean  or  hope, 
No  longer  imitating  Pope, 

In  that  barbarian  Shakspeare  poking  V 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  4i)l 

One  more,  "  Ls  incest  not  enough? 

And  must  there  be  adultery  too? 
Grace  after  meat  ?  Miscreant  and  Liar  ! 
Thief!  Blackguard!  Scoundrel!   Fool!  Hell-fire 

Is  twenty  times  too  good  for  you. 

"  By  that  last  book  of  yours  we  think 

You've  double  damned  yourself  to  scorn  ; 
We  warned  you  whilst  yet  on  the  brink 
You  stood.  From  your  black  name  will  shrink 
The  babe  that  is  unborn." 


All  these  Reviews  the  Devil  made 

Up  in  a  parcel,  which  he  had 
Safely  to  Peter's  house  conveyed. 
For  carriage,  ten-pence  Peter  paid — 

Untied  them — read  them — went  half  mad. 

"  What  !"  cried  he,  "  this  is  my  reward 

For  nights-  of  thought,  and  days  of  toil  1 
Do  poets,  but  to  be  abhorred 
By  men  of  whom  they  never  beard, 
Consume  their  spirits'  oil  ? 

"What have  I  done  to  them? — and  who 

Is  Mrs.  Foy  ?  'Tis  very  cruel 
To  speak  of  me  and  Emma  so  ! 
Adultery  !  God  defend  me !  Oh ! 

I've  half  a  mind  to  fight  a  duel. 

"  Or,"  cried  be,  a  grave  look  collecting, 

"  Is  it  my  genius,  like  the  moon, 
Sets  those  who  stand  her  face  inspecting, 
That  face  within  their  brain  reflecting, 
Like  a  crazed  bell-chime,  out  of  tune?" 

For  Peter  did  not  know  the  town, 
But  thought,  as  country  readers  do 

For  half  a  guinea  or  a  crown, 

He  bought  oblivion  or  renown 

From  God's  own  voice  in  a  review. 

All  Peter  did  on  this  occasion 

Was,  writing  some  sad  stuff  in  prose. 
It  is  a  dangerous  invasion 
When  poets  criticise  ;  their  station 
Is  to  delight,  not  pose. 
42  » 


49^  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

The  Devil  then  sent  to  Leipsic  fair, 

For  Bora's  translation  of  Kant's  book  ; 
A  world  of  words,  tail  foremost,  where 
Right — wrong — false — true — and  foul,  and  fair- 
As  in  a  lottery-wheel  are  shook. 

Five  thousand  crammed  octavo  pages 

Of  German  psychologies, —  he 
Who  his  furor  verborum  assuages 
Thereon,  deserves  just  seven  months'  wages 

More  than  will  e'er  be  due  to  me. 

I  looked  on  them  nine  several  days, 

And  then  I  saw  that  they  were  bad  ; 
A  friend,  too,  spoke  in  their  dispraise,— 
He  never  read  them  ;— with  amaze 
I  found  Sir  William  Drummond  had. 

When  the  book  came,  the  Devil  sent 

It  to  P.  Verbovale,  Esquire, 
With  a  brief  note  of  compliment, 
By  that  night's  Carlisle  mail.     It  went, 

And  set  his  soul  on  fire. 

Fire,  which  ex  luce  preebens  fumum, 
Made  him  beyond  the  bottom  see 

Of  truth's  clear  well — when  I  and  you  Ma'am, 

Go  as  we  shall  do,  subter  humum, 
We  may  know  more  than  he. 

Now  Peter  ran  to  seed  in  soul 

Into  a  walking  paradox  ; 
For  he  was  neither  part  nor  whole, 
Nor  good,  nor  bad — nor  knave  nor  fool, 

— Among  the  woods  and  rocks. 

Furious  he  rode,  where  late  he  ran, 
Lashing  and  spurring  his  tame  hobby  ; 

Turned  to  a  formal  puritan, 

A  solemn  and  unsexual  man, — 
He  half  believed  White  Obi. 

This  steed  in  vision  he  would  ride, 

High  trotting  over  nine-inch  bridges 
With  Flibbertigibbet,  imp  of  pride, 
Mocking  and  mo  ving  by  his  side — 
A  mad-brained  goblin  for  a  guide —    . 
Over  corn-fields,  gates,  and  hedges. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

After  these  ghastly  rides,  he  came 

Home  to  his  heart,  and  found  from  thence 

Much  stolen  of  its  accustomed  flame  ; 

His  thoughts  grew  weak,  drowsy,  and  lamp 
Of  their  intelligence. 

To  Peter's  view,  all  seemed  one  hue  j 
He  was  no  whig,  he  was  no  tory ; 

No  Deist  and  no  Christian  he  ; — 

He  got  so  subtle,  that  to  be 
Nothing,  was  all  his  glory. 

One  single  point  in  his  belief 

From  his  organisation  sprung, 
The  heart-enrooted  faith,  the  chief 
Ear  in  his  doctrines'  blighted  sheaf, 

That  "  happiness  is  wrong ," 

So  thought  Calvin  and  Dominic  ; 

So  think  their  fierce  successors,  who 
Even  now  would  neither  stint  nor  stick 
Our  flesh  from  off  our  bones  to  pick, 

If  they  might  "do  their  do." 

His  morals  thus  were  undermined  : 
The  old  Peter— the  hard,  old  Peter 

Was  born  anew  within  his  mind  ; 

He  grew  dull,  harsh,  sly,  unrefined, 
As  when  he  tramped  beside  the  Otter. 

In  the  death  hues  of  agony 

Lambently  flashing  from  a  fish, 
Now  Peter  felt  amused  to  see 
Shades  like  a  rainbow's  rise  and  flee, 
Mixed  with  a  certain  hungry  wish. 

So  in  his  Country's  dying  face 
He  looked— and  lovely  as  she  lay, 

Seeking  in  vain  his  last  embrace, 

Wailing  her  own  abandoned  case, 

With  hardened  sneer  he  turned  away : 

And  coolly  to  his  own  soul  said  ;— 

"  Do  you  not  think  that  we  might  make, 
A  poem  on  her  when  she's  dead  : — 
Or,  no — a  thought  is  in  my  head — 
Her  shroud  for  a  new  sheet  I'll  take. 


493 


494  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

"  My  wife  wants  one.— Let  who  will  bury 

This  mangled  corpse  !  And  I  and  you, 
My  dearest  soul,  willthen    make  merry, 
As  the  Prince  Regent  did  with  Sherry,— 

Ay — and  at  last  desert  me  too." 

And  so  his  Soul  would  not  be  gay, 

But  moaned  within  him  ;  like  a  fawn 
Moaning  within  a  cave,  it  lay 
Woimdeand  wasting,  day  by  day, 
Till  all  its  life  of  life  was  gone. 

As  troubled  skies  stain  waters  clear, 

The  storm  in  Peter's  heart  and  mind 
Now  made  his  verses  dark  and  queer : 
They  were  the  ghosts  of  what  they  were, 
Shaking  dim  grave-clothes  in  the  wind. 

For  he  now  raved  enormous  folly, 

Of  Baptisms,  Sunday-schools,  and  Graves, 
'Twould  make  George  Colman  melancholy, 
To  have  heard  him,  like  a  male  Molly, 
Chaunting  those  stupid  staves. 

Yet  the  Reviews,  who  heaped  abuse 

On  Peter  while  he  wrote  for  freedom, 
So  soon  as  in  his  song  they  spy, 
The  folly  which  soothes  tyranny, 
Praise  him,  for  those  who  feed  'em. 

"  He  was  a  man,  too  great  to  scan  ; — 

A  planet  lost  in  truth's  keen  rays  : — 
His  virtue,  awful  and  prodigious  ; — 
He  was  the  most  sublime,  religious, 
Pure-minded  Poet  of  these  days." 

As  soon  as  he  read  that,  cried  Peter, 

"  Eureka  !  I  have  found  the  way 
To  make  a  better  thing  of  metre 
Than  e'er  was  made  by  living  creature 
Up  to  this  blessed  day." 

Then  Peter  wrote  odes  to  the  Devil ; — 
In  one  of  which  he  meekly  said : 

"  May  Carnage  and  Slaughter, 

Thy  niece  and  thy  daughter, 

May  Rapine  and  Famine, 

Thy  gorge  ever  cramming, 

Glut  thee  with  living  and  dead ! 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  495 

"  May  death  and  damnation, 

And  consternate  n, 
Flit  up  from  hell  with  pure  intent! 

Slash  them  at  Manchester, 

Glasgow,  Leeds  and  Chester  ; 
Drench  all  with  blood  from  Avon  to  Trent. 

"  Let  thy  body-guard  yeomen 

Hew  down  babes  and  women, 
And  laugh  with  bold  triumph  till  Heaven  be  rent, 

When  Moloch  in  Jewry, 

Munched  children  wth  fury, 
It  was  thou,  Devil,  dining  with  pure  intent." 


PART  THE  SEVENTH. 

©ouolc  {Damnation. 

The  Devil  now  knew  his  proper  cue, — 

Soon  as  he  read  the  ode,  he  drove 
To  his  friend  Lord  Mac  Murderchouse's, 
A  man  of  interest  in  both  houses, 

And  said : — "  For  money  or  for  love, 

"  Pray  find  some  cure  or  sinecure  ; 

To  feed  from  the  superfluous  taxes, 
A  friend  of  ours — a  poet — fewer 
Have  fluttered  tamer  to  the  lure 

Than  he."     His  Lordship  stands  and  racks  his 

Stupid  brains,  while  one  might  count 
As  many  be  ads  as  he  had  boroughs, — 

At  length  replies  ;  from  his  mean  front, 

Like  one  who  rubs  out  an  account, 

Smoothing  away  the  unmeaning  furrows  : 

"  It  happens  fortunately,  dear  Sir, 

I  can.     1  hope  I  need  require 
No  pledge  from  you,  that  he  will  stir 
In  our  affairs  ;— like  Oliver, 

That  he'll  be  worthy  of  his  hire." 

These  words  exchanged,  the  news  ent  oft 

To  Peter,  home  the  Devil  hied,— 
Took  to  his  bed  ;  he  had  no  cough, 
No  doctor,— meat  and  drink  enough,— 

Yet  that  same  night  he  died. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

The  Devil's  corpse  was  leaded  down; 

Hisdecent  heirs  enjoyed  his  pelf, 
Mourning-coaches,  many  a  one, 
Followed  his  hearse  along  the  town: — 

Where  was  the  Devil  himself? 

When  Peter  heard  of  his  promotion, 

His  eyes  grew  like  two  stars  for  bliss: 
There  was  a  bow  of  sleek  devotion, 
Engendering  in  his  back ;  each  motion 
Seemed  a  Lord's  shoe  to  kiss. 

He  hired  a  house,  bought  plate,  and  made 

A  genteel  drive  up  to  his  door, 
With  sifted  gravel  neatly  laid, — 
As  if  defying  all  who  said, 

Peter  was  ever  poor. 

But  a  disease  soon  struck  into 

The  very  life  and  soul  of  Peter — 
He  walked  about — slept — had  the  hue 
Of  health  upon  his  cheeks — and  few 

Dug  better — none  a  heartier  eater. 

And  yet  a  strange  and  horrid  curse 

Clung  upon  Peter,  night  and  clay, 
Month  after  month  the  thing  grew  worse, 
And  deadlier  than  in  this  my  verse, 

I  can  find  strength  to  say. 

Peter  was  dull — he  was  at  first 

Dull — O,  so  dull — so  very  dull ! 
Whether  he  talked,  wrote,  or  rehearsed- 
Still  with  this  dullness  was  he  cursed — 

Dull— beyond  all  conception — dull. 

No  one  could  read  his  books — no  mortal, 
But  a  few  natural  friends,  would  hear  him; 

The  parson  came  not  near  his  portal ; 

His  state  was  like  that  of  the  immortal 
Described  by  Swift— no  man  could  bear  him. 

His  sister,  wife,  and  children  yawned, 
With  a  long,  slow,  and  drear  ennui, 

All  human  patience  far  beyond  ; 

Their  hopes  of  Heaven  each  would  have  pawned. 
Any  where  else  to  be. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  497 

But  in  his  verse,  and  in  liis  prose, 

The  essence  of  his  dullness  was 
Concentred  and  compressed  so  close, 
'Twould  have  made  Guatimozin  doz« 

On  his  red  gridiron  of  brass. 

A  printer's  boy,  folding  those  pages, 

Fell  slumbrously  upon  one  side  ; 
Like  those  famed  seven  who  slept  three  ages. 
To  wakeful  frenzy's  vigil  rages, 

As  opiates,  were  the  same  applied. 

Even  the  Reviewers  who  were  hired 

To  do  the  work  of  his  reviewing, 
With  adamantine  nerves,  grew  tired  ;— 
Gaping  and  torpid  they  retired, 

To  dream  of  what  they  should  be  doing. 

And  worse  and  worse,  the  drowsy  curse 

Yawned  in  him,  till  it  grew  a  pest — 
A  wide  contagious  atmosphere, 
Creeping  like  cold  through  all  things  near ; 

A  power  to  infect  and  to  infest. 

His  servant-maids  and  dogs  grew  dull ; 

His  kitten,  late  a  sportive  elf, 
The  woods  and  lakes,  so  beautiful, 
Of  dim  stupidity  were  full, 

All  grew  dull  as  Peter's  self. 

The  earth  under  his  feet — the  springs, 

Which  lived  within  it  a  quick  life, 
The  air,  the  winds  of  many  wings, 
That  fan  it  with  new  murmurings, 

Were  dead  to  their  harmonious  strife 

The  birds  and  beasts  within  the  wood, 

The  insects,  and  each  creeping  thing, 
Were  now  a  silent  multitude ; 
Love's  work  was  left  unwrought — no  brood 

Near  Peter's  house  took  wing. 

And  every  neighbouring  cottager 

Stupidly  yawned  upon  the  other: 
No  jackass  brayed  ;  no  little  cur 
Cocked  up  his  ears; — no  man  would  stir 

To  save  a  dying  mother. 


498  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Yet  all  from  that  charmed  district  went 
But  some  half-idiot  and  half-knave, 
Who  rather  than  pay  any  rent, 
Would  live  with  marvellous  content, 
Over  his  father's  grave. 

No  bailiff  dared  within  that  space, 

For  fear  of  the  dull  charm,  to  enter;   . 
A  man  would  bear  upon  his  face, 
For  fifteen  months  in  any  case, 
The  yawn  of  such  a  venture. 

Seven  miles  above — below — around— 
This  pest  of  dulness  holds  its  sway; 

A  ghastly  life  without  a  sound ; 

To  Peter's  soul  the  spell  is  bound — 
How  should  it  ever  pass  away  ? 


THE  END. 


C0535t,i43[n 


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UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


